


A Ghost in Your Garden

by dimeliora



Category: CW Network RPF
Genre: Complete lack of respect for the integrity of realtors, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, M/M, Off-screen death, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-10 20:11:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 42,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2038503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dimeliora/pseuds/dimeliora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A very loosely based AU of Season One of American Horror Story, Romcom style. Jensen has suffered an accident, and moves into a new home as a form of occupational and geographical therapy. He's surprised on arrival to find that his house is haunted and that his relationship is more damaged than he imagined. Luckily his new neighbor Jared is there to help him deal with the mysteries of his new home, and pick up the pieces of his broken life</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I was born in a mortuary  
Full of worry  
Ice water in my veins  
Gave my heart in the school library  
Never knew her name

 

It starts out small. It starts with a plate.

They bought the old house on King Street for so little that it was practically criminal. Jensen knows that part of it is the declining value of the neighborhood. Cedar Hill was still close enough to Dallas to offer workers a short commute, the properties there were just as pretty as any other suburb, but somehow they had lost the race when it came to attracting homeowners that survived the economic downturn. Founded in the early 1840’s the town had survived losing its position as county seat, a massive tornado that killed nine of its residents, and any number of tiny tragedies that should have shut it down as a thriving community.

Instead it was the burst of the housing bubble that spelled the end of Cedar Hill. As a result Jensen and Matt were able to buy the hundred year old Victorian for a fraction of the reasonable cost. It needed love, and Jensen knew that going in, but it would be worth it once the work was done. Three stories of classic design, perfect craftsmanship, and the promise of a project that would keep Jensen busy and productive.

Not that he needed it. Despite what Matt said.

From the moment he’d seen it, tucked in the back of the realtor’s folder and already looking dejected, Jensen had known she was the house for him. The old stained glass windows, the cupola, the grand front porch, and the tiny third floor balcony all screamed for care and love. Jensen had pushed all the Ranch style and Tudor houses out of the way and plucked the picture up before turning to the realtor and saying, “Take us here.”

And she had. Sera’s heels had clicked along the wood floors, voice echoing in the big empty space as she told them the house had been built in 1913 for a rich doctor and his wife, that it had stood since then and been the family home to several famous local personages including two mayors and a movie star. Jensen had simply taken it all in, eyes pulling out places that he could improve and mentally categorizing projects as immediate or in the far future. The floors would need to be redone, the old purple wallpaper in the dining room had to be ripped out, and the ballroom on the third floor would take the most work.

He could sand and repaint the exterior before summer came and the worst of the heat drove him inside. The yard would take a ton of work too, but Jensen liked gardening, and he liked the idea of digging into the clay topsoil of Cedar Hill and planting dogwoods and oaks to offset the cedars that gave the town its name. With time and love Jensen could bring the house back to its former glory, and he really believed that the project was worth it. That making this house what it should be would fulfill him, and it seemed like that was the only concern he was supposed to have anymore. Secretly, hidden from both Matt and his therapist, Jensen hoped that working on the house would prove to himself and others that he was ready to take on projects for pay again. That he could go back to his job and be himself again instead of the homebody shell he had been for the past year.

He didn’t need to be kept busy. Matt and Dr. Kripke thought Jensen needed a distraction. They had tried simple woodworking, computer simulation programs, and furniture restoration. In his heyday Jensen had worked with a team of six people to flip houses for profit. He was good at it, knew a ton of tricks to bring the poor wrecks back to life within budget and then sell them to families looking for a good price. Jensen’s career was successful, but more importantly he had loved his job. Loved it.

And then the accident.

Jensen had gone through all the steps to get back to his life. He’d left the job to Chris and Aldis, knew that they would be able to handle it, and focused on the physical therapy necessary to get him back on his feet and the court proceedings that seemed to drag on forever. And then after two years he could walk without a cane, could make his way up and down stairs, and could carry light loads.

But he couldn’t get to the job sites. Not and be in his right mind. Getting behind a wheel made his heart rate accelerate and his hands shake. Breathing was right out. That was when Dr. Kripke came into the mix. Jensen’s physical therapist had come to his home, and it had never occurred to him that the place he wanted so badly to leave would be the only place he could continue to function properly.

So for a year Dr. Kripke came to his home once a week and worked with him. They talked about Jensen’s accident, about his recovery process, and most intensely about his panic attacks. But it wasn’t working. Jensen still couldn’t leave, and being imprisoned in the house he and Matt built slowly turned him sour on it. So Dr. Kripke suggested they buy a new place. “Try a geographical.” And despite his skepticism Jensen had leapt at the chance to cut ties with his cell and make it out into the world.

The house on King Street afforded him everything. It was on the other side of Dallas and not even the land looked the same. Hilly country instead of flat scrub, full of the native red cedars, and set at a higher elevation than their old suburb. It was as alien as he could get and still be near the home base of his company. And it had the house.

Matt wasn’t sure, hemmed and hawed about the state of the place, but Jensen dropped all the psycho-analytical language Dr. Kripke had been using during their joint sessions to convince Matt that taking on a place like this was Jensen’s acceptance that he would probably never work again. It had worked. They put down an offer, the family selling accepted, and Jensen and Matt were the proud owners of the house at the top of King Street.

The moving process was rough. Jensen could help with the planning, the packing, and the loading, but when it came time to transport themselves he had to use sedatives and sleep through the trip. The drugs left him off for the first two days, and the slow start was brutal to their timeline. Matt worked in a law firm in Dallas, and it became obvious that the time he thought he was going to get off to help wasn’t going to happen.

So Jensen was left alone with unpacking. It was ok. He had Aldis and Chris to join him in lifting and moving the heavier furniture. His friends would appreciate the old structure for what it was, a jewel of architectural achievement. They would revel in the old fixtures, the solid construction, and the marvelous design of the banisters and molding. He already had a plan to create a mosaic of tile around the grand fireplace, and he could not wait to tackle the bulk of it.

But Matt insisted that before he begin the work he was interested in Jensen should make the most public areas look unpacked and lived in. Purportedly it was in case someone from the firm visited, but Matt hadn’t brought anyone home since Jensen’s accident, and he was pretty sure Matt was just stalling what might not be a plausible solution to Jensen’s issues.

Out of respect for Matt’s sacrifices up to this point Jensen focused on complying with all of his partner’s requests. He set up the bedroom, unpacked all the boxes for it and the bathroom, and made sure that every morning when Matt got up he would be able to get ready for work and head out without trouble. He made sure the dining room was ready to host, despite the hideous purple wallpaper, and carefully laid out all the display China in the cabinet to give the impression that everything was in its place. The last two rooms, the kitchen and the living room, were easier, and Jensen knocked both of them out in a day.

And then the plate happened, and Jensen wasn’t aware of it at the time but his entire life changed.

 

\----

 

“Matt? Matt where did you put the serving platter?”

Jensen’s annoyed. He wants to be doing something. He wants to get Chris and Aldis out here with the industrial sander to start stripping the floors and prepping them to be re-varnished. He wants to be doing what he loves, and instead he’s playing housewife to Matt’s businessman. And now Matt wants dinner served and eaten in their new dining room and Jensen cannot find the fucking serving platter.

“I don’t know babe! I don’t touch that stuff. Don’t want to mess with your space.”

Matt has never understood the difference between home restoration and interior design. He also appears to still believe after ten years together that Jensen is really into homemaking. Jensen bears it with as much patience as he can.

“Yeah, ok, but it was set up in the cabinet and it’s not there anymore. Are you sure you didn’t pull it out?”

There’s a noise from the study that holds only Matt’s desk and the props that make it his home office. Jensen is pretty sure it’s an annoyed one, but he’s working too hard to control his own anger to even bother trying to find out where Matt’s head is at. Instead of continuing the useless line of conversation Jensen goes back to the cabinet and stares at the empty space that once held the serving platter.

His roast is done, a simple enough meal that fits in his skill set, but there’s nothing to put it on. He can just drop trivets and serve the damn thing out of the pan he guesses, because there’s no way he’s going to dig in the boxes of kitchen shit to find the everyday platter.

Except when he gets into the kitchen to find trivets and pull the pan out there’s the serving platter, sitting on the island in the center of the kitchen and mocking him. Jensen doesn’t remember pulling it out, and he’s fairly certain he would. Which means Matt did it and forgot, or Matt did it and thought Jensen had looked in the kitchen. Matt does a fair amount of assuming.

Jensen bites back his temper again and pulls the roast pan out before dropping the whole thing onto the serving platter. He sets it in the center of the table, goes back in for the beans, and then when it’s all set up he calls for Matt. His boyfriend comes in rubbing his eyes and reading from a law book, and Jensen gives up on the idea of real dinner conversation.

They haven’t had much of that for the last two or three years anyway. Jensen has no day to talk about, he’s done nothing but dig around in boxes and hang curtains, and Matt’s day consists of arguments with other lawyers and what his legal aides did. Sometimes they have recent TV shows to discuss or some news article, but otherwise the lack of life Jensen leads takes a toll on polite conversation.

And anything beyond polite conversation heads into a darker territory that Jensen isn’t willing to enter and Matt is wary about. So Matt brings a book to dinner to do research, and Jensen prepares to simply continue his mental list of steps to reviving the house. Except Matt decides to talk without looking up from his book.

“So, where’d you find it?”

Jensen blinks, fork halfway to his mouth, and then puts the pieces together.

“Oh the plate? It was in the kitchen on the island. I guess it got put out there in preparation for food.”

Matt turns a page, tongue poking out for a moment before retreating as his finger scans the words.

“No the lamp, but are you saying you put the plate out and forgot?”

Jensen bristles. It’s an argument they’ve had before.

“Matt, if I put the plate out I would have said I put the plate out. I said it got put out. Which was my diplomatic way of saying you put it out because I certainly didn’t. And while I appreciate the fact that you wanted to help me get dinner out faster I would appreciate it more if you just told me where you moved the damn thing.”

His boyfriend’s lips purse for a second, and then Matt moves his bookmark to the page he’s on and looks up at some point fixed over Jensen’s shoulder.

“Ok Jensen. Ok. I just realized I need to look at some precedents on my computer. So I’m gonna take this in there. And thanks for the lamp it works perfectly.”

With that Matt grabs his plate and book and leaves Jensen sitting in the dark dining room, purple wallpaper mocking him as his appetite flees and his rage soars. He takes a moment to breathe deep, to hold back, because his first reaction is to grab the serving platter and smash it, roast and all, on the scarred wood floor. But that sort of destruction is bad, and will only lead to more cleaning and talking as Matt takes that “I’m being reasonable tone” that actually means Jensen is not and Matt is compensating for his irrationality.

And if Matt uses that voice tonight Jensen is fairly certain he will simply kill his boyfriend and wait for the cops to come for him. Or bury Matt under the floorboards he has to tear up and replace in the back parlor.

The thought is dark, almost alien, and Jensen pushes up from the table and starts to put everything away. It is a lost effort, and he’s just going to plop down on the couch and start up a video game. He’s gotten pretty good at them over the length of his convalescence and forced home stay. There’s no reason to be bitter. These sorts of things happen. Couples have rough patches, and considering how comforting and thoughtful Matt has been ever since Jensen got hurt it’s ok to let a few things go. Matt has been strong for Jensen, and it’s time for Jensen to be strong for Matt.

It doesn’t occur to him until he’s put up the food and loaded Guitar Hero into the Xbox that he has no idea what lamp Matt is talking about.

 

\----

 

Matt sleeps in his office that night, the low couch kept just for that purpose is comfortable enough for it. Jensen remembers buying that couch. Remembers laughing at Matt’s habit of falling asleep buried under law books like some kind of dry and wordy blanket.

It’s not so funny anymore.

The house groans and creaks around him, settling, and Jensen stays alert and awake listening to each part. The sounds of a house can tell its inhabitants more than most people know. If he hears a clanging Jensen will know he has pipe trouble, the right kind of groan indicates issues with the floors or the support beams, and doors swinging or creaking tell him that he has drafts he has to track down and fix. It’s a science he’s mastered, and he puts it to use for his sleeplessness.

His leg aches a little tonight, maybe too much moving around, but Jensen has stopped taking the prescription painkillers that still litter his bathroom cabinet. He’s also quit the anti-depressants, but those he flushes on a daily basis in case Matt is counting. He doesn’t like the lethargy that comes with the pills, and he hates the way they mess with his head. It’s yet another thing that Jensen wishes Matt would listen to him about instead of Dr. Kripke, but in keeping with the arc of their relationship Matt is more interested in the testimony of expert witnesses than his boyfriend.

It’s another reason Jensen can’t tell Matt why he was so wrong tonight. Matt’s assuming he’s still medicated, and if Jensen admitted he wasn’t Matt would accuse the lack of medication for his memory slipping. He’s damned if he does and damned if he doesn’t.

He rolls over in bed, looks up at smooth plaster ceiling and the lazily turning fan, and wonders how he’ll begin to fix what’s broken between him and Matt the way he’ll eventually fix the house. There’s a creak nearby, the floorboards outside the door, and Jensen turns his head that way and considers the doorway for a moment before closing his eyes.

“Goodnight house.”

The creak sounds again, and then all is quiet as Jensen drifts off into sleep.

 

\----

 

In the morning things don’t look very different. Matt is gone before Jensen rolls out of bed and makes his way downstairs. There’s no note, and Jensen digs out cereal and pours himself a bowl while considering what he’ll do today. He’s complied with all of Matt’s requests, and that means if he really wants to he can get started on the things that really matter to him.

He calls Aldis and Chris, and goes over a list of equipment and supplies before washing out his bowl and wandering aimlessly. Something leads him into Matt’s study, and he stares at the mess of books and yellow legal pads. In the old house Matt littered his desk with pictures of Jensen and himself, his early years at the firm, and his graduation from Law School. Now there’s only the shot of Matt in his robes with his parents’ arms around him.

And behind that picture is a Tiffany lamp, stained glass comprised of dark colors that match with the deep green and mahogany wood paneling of the room. It is absolutely perfect, and Jensen wonders where in the hell it came from and how it got there. Matt doesn’t have taste like that. Jensen doesn’t have taste like that.

It might have come from the attic. Jensen hasn’t been up there since he peeked into the space during the initial walkthrough, and he certainly didn’t get around then to cataloguing what the previous family or families had left to be handled by the new owners. Maybe he’ll do that tomorrow if his leg needs a break.

While he’s deep in thought the old doorbell rings, and Jensen makes his way out into the grand foyer and opens the door to find his friends, coworkers, family standing on the front porch with a cart full of chemicals and a stack of pizzas.

Chris smiles, steps over the threshold, and slaps Jensen on the back hard.

“Bout time you let us see this poor monstrosity. Now, show us the kitchen first, and then let’s see what’s ahead.”

 

\----

 

“Charcoal black.” Chris’s eyes flare as he plucks the last piece of pizza up and bites into it. They’ve moved out onto the front porch, beers and pizza passed in between them, and Jensen is having a cigarette as he stares out at the yard.

“Galaxy black you tasteless cretin.” Aldis snatches the slice out of Chris’s grip and stuffs almost all of it into his mouth.

“I’m gonna get you for that.” Chris grins through the threat though, and then shifts his gaze to Jensen. “How you doing boss?”

“Chris, for like the fortieth time, I’m not your boss anymore. You and Aldis are my partners now.”

Aldis laughs around his mouthful of pizza and Chris points his bottle accusingly.

“You had us buy shares at about a fourth of their worth so you could feel better about abandoning us. I refuse to be bought off boss. You’re stuck with us, and soon as you get back on your feet a hundred percent you’re gonna be back on the job ordering us around and being a pain in the ass.”

Jensen takes a long drag, and then outs the cigarette on the underside of the porch before field stripping it.

“I have never been a pain in your ass. I am a gracious and generous employer and a delight to work with.”

Aldis chokes on his pizza and Chris slaps his back heartily even as he laughs.

“You keep telling yourself that Jenny. It’s almost as adorable as them lashes of yours.” Chris winks at him once and then drains his beer bottle. “Now. Take us round the homestead and let’s see what you got yourself into.”

Jensen loves his friends. They understand everything. Chris marvels at the hand-carved balustrade on the balcony, Aldis practically coos over the molding in the ballroom, and they agree simultaneously and without Jensen’s prompting that the varnish for the wood floors on the second story should be a shade lighter than the other two floors because the rooms are slightly smaller and darker.

Aldis points to the door into the attic and grins maniacally.

“What’s up there? Remnants of old ghosts?”

Jensen considers it for a moment before catching the pull-string and dragging the stairs down.

“I don’t know man. Why don’t you take a look.” He adopts his best Vincent Price spooky voice. Watches Aldis theatrically shudder as Chris turns to study the crack in the plaster wall here.

His friend goes ahead of him, boots clomping loudly on the old wood steps, and Jensen tugs Chris away from his study before heading up behind.

Aldis has reached the top, and Jensen isn’t far behind him but he gets distracted by the give in the eight step. The shriek above him sends his feet scrambling, and Chris catches him and then pushes him up and through the opening. Aldis is standing in the center of the open attic, one hand to his chest and the other up in surrender, and Jensen would laugh but he’s struck speechless for a moment.

When he peeked up here with the realtor it was a cloudy day and a mass of indistinct shapes. Now, with the sunlight streaming through the big windows, the space is lit beautifully. The naked beams stretch up and around them, beautiful old wood gleaming dully in the sunshine, and oak and mahogany furniture shining under thin layers of dust. The sewing dummy that scared Aldis is the only thing moving, rocking slightly in front of his friend, and for a moment Jensen just stares around the space in wonder before reality comes crashing back in.

“You giant pussy! It’s a mannequin. Get a hold of yourself.”

Aldis is sucking in deep lungfuls of air, eyes darting back and forth, and Chris bends in half laughing himself silly. When Aldis is finally under control again he shoves Chris hard and then starts wandering around the attic with wide eyes.

“Jesus, Jensen, there’s a couple grand in furniture alone in here. What’d the last family do sneak out in the middle of the night?”

“Uh. You know I never asked.” He pulls the sheet half covering a grandfather clock off and waves dust out of his face. “But this is glorious.”

Chris is looking around too, but his face is more questioning than reverent.

“Jen. You got the blueprints for this place?”

“Not yet. They get couriered in sometime next week. Why?”

Chris tilts his head and runs his hand along the wall. Jensen’s seen that look before. It never bodes well.

“This is too small.”

Aldis bursts into laughter now, closing the drawer of a buffet and turning to Chris.

“You crazy man? This is double the size of our first apartment. This is an insane amount of storage space.”

Chris shakes his head, hand still on the wall, and then turns to look at Jensen.

“I’d need machinery to prove it, but I’m telling you this ain’t the right size for this house.” He taps the wall and then looks around again. “It should be bigger.”

 

\---

 

Chris and Aldis have been gone for several hours, and Jensen’s decided to start with the wallpaper in the dining room instead of the floors. He’s not sure if it’s the massive scope of the floor project or the hideousness of the purple flowers. Either way he’s treating a portion of the wall with paste dissolver and waiting for it to set in before he can start scraping the paper off. He’s covered in tiny flecks of paste, plaster, and paper from scoring the walls, and he pours himself a glass of sweet tea before looking out the back window.

There’s one giant oak that stands in the center of the sweeping back yard, and shades an old iron bench that Jensen isn’t sure if he should work on or replace. Jensen’s staring at the green leaves, the way they shift in the breeze, and then movement out of the corner of his eye draws his focus down.

A guy is sitting on the bench. All Jensen can tell about him from his position is that his hair brushes his shoulders and he’s big. Otherwise his face is pointed into the sun, and that makes him a black outline that Jensen peers at for a long time. He’s not sure what to do. He hasn’t met any of the neighbors yet, but Southern Hospitality laws say he shouldn’t call the cops or head out there yelling and chase the guy off.

Still. It’s a stranger in his yard, and Jensen hasn’t dealt with many strangers since his accident outside of medical professionals. He takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders, and then pours a second glass of sweet tea just in case.

The grass is a little prickly on his feet, the dirt underneath crumbly and warm, and Jensen makes it all the way to the bench before his twinging leg tells him he needs to sit down. He takes a spot beside the stranger without comment and then holds out the glass. Casual. He will be casual.

Here, with the sun causing him to squint, Jensen can see that the man is handsome. His shirt is white, cotton, and the long sleeves are rolled up to his elbows exposing corded forearms. His slacks are a soft gray, and he’s as shoeless as Jensen is. The hair is just as long as it looked from the kitchen window, and it’s a soft brown that catches the sunlight and reflects warm undertones. It hangs around a sculpted face, strong jaw, and shows off tan skin with little moles and generous pink lips. The man’s eyes are the best part of his face, multi-colored and shadowed by one huge hand as he looks at Jensen.

They sit in silence for several long seconds before the mouth curls into a bright smile and dimples appear.

“Well howdy neighbor. Thanks a bunch.” He takes the glass from Jensen and drinks long and slow, throat working rhythmically.

“Neighbor? Which house are you from?” Jensen sounds a little strangled, and he clears his throat and turns away from the guy to look out over the rest of the yard. Situated the way they are, at the top of a hill, he can see down into the end of Cedar Hill. They’re on the back of the suburb, and that means if he skips his eyes over the other tacked on block of houses he can look directly into the cedar forests that surround the town. Or the copse of trees on the edge of his new property. The yard is big, and Jensen makes a mental note to get a riding lawnmower.

The man gestures vaguely over his shoulder and then lowers the glass and holds out his free hand.

“Jared Padalecki. And you?”

Jensen takes the hand, feels the cool and firm grip, and shakes once firmly before letting go.

“Jensen Ackles. I live here with my partner Matt Cohen.”

Best to get it out in the open from the start Jensen has learned. See how the reaction is and roll with it from there. Jared’s smile stays put, neither strained nor enhanced, and Jensen relaxes just a fraction.

“Y’all moved in a couple days ago. Settling just fine?”

Jensen leans back, puts his hands down on the iron and feels the heat that the metal has soaked in from the sun. In the summer it will be unbearable to sit on, and that’s another point in the replace column. Getting a pad for it will require more upkeep, but it wouldn’t take long to make something new out of wood that would be easier to keep and more comfortable.

“Jensen?”

He snaps back to the present, shakes himself physically, and then offers an awkward smile.

“Sorry. Drifted off for a second there. Yeah. Yeah it’s a beautiful place.”

Jared laughs, head tilting back and lips parting to reveal bright white teeth. He takes another long swallow of tea before setting the glass down carefully on the bench beside him.

“Beautiful, huh? Needs an awful lot of work. Plus, word round these parts is it’s haunted.”

Jensen can’t help the sneer, and he narrows his eyes into the sun instead of focusing on Jared.

“I don’t believe in hocus pocus and working on old houses is my business.”

There’s a little hum beside him, the bench shifts, and then Jared’s voice is just as relaxed and friendly as it’s been since the beginning.

“Well she could use the love. In her heyday she was one mighty fine place. Can’t tell you how many balls were had here.”

Jensen glances sideways and feels his eyebrow lifting.

“You a history buff?”

Jared’s smile dims a little, and his bare toes dig into the earth.

“Something like that. I better get going. Thanks for the tea Jensen.”

Jensen watches him walk around the house, and when he’s disappeared Jensen leans back on the bench and drinks the last of his tea in the warm sunshine before returning to the dark and cool dining room to start stripping the paper off.

 

\----

Matt comes home with Chinese, a peace offering, and Jensen takes it. A fourth of the wallpaper has been removed, and Matt gives it a look before taking dinner into the kitchen. They eat at the island and when Matt mentions that he might wrap up the car wreck he’s been working on for the last two years Jensen swallows his Lo Mein and then offers his own tidbit.

“I met a neighbor today.”

His boyfriend looks up from the laborious process of properly coating his eggroll with duck sauce to consider him for a long moment. Jensen isn’t sure if the look is positive or negative. When did he lose the ability to read Matt’s every expression?

Can Matt read his?

“Oh yeah? Good or bad?”

“Took the gay thing well. Little weird. Dressed kinda like an artist and…off. Just a little. But nice. Jared Padalecki.”

Matt swallows and then smiles. It’s honest, and Jensen smiles back.

“Well, if we have to live with kooks at least they’re not homophobic kooks. Which house is he?”

Jensen pauses and then realizes he never asked for clarification when Jared gestured.

“I’m not really sure. He didn’t get specific.”

“Well what does he do?”

Shit.

“I don’t know that either. We talked about the house mostly. He knew a lot about it.”

Matt rolls his eyes and crunches into the egg roll. He chews a long time before getting to the part Jensen didn’t want to hear.

“Great. More architecture enthusiasts. Does he get a boner from siding too?”

It’s a joke. Jensen knows it’s a joke. That doesn’t change the automatic defensive response that bubbles up to his lips and is barely smothered. He forces a grin and stands up to scrape his plate and rinse it.

“I didn’t ask. I’ll get around to it next time probably.”

Matt squints at his food and then pushes it away.

“Was he hot at least?”

Jensen drops his plate in the dishwasher and starts boxing up the leftovers and putting them away.

“No. Just kinda doofy and weird.”

Matt sleeps next to him that night, snoring softly, but Jensen lies awake listening to the house.


	2. Chapter 2

Lost my tongue in the sanctuary  
"Heaven spare me!"  
Hands raised above my head  
Sent my brain to the seminary  
Never seen again...

 

Jensen is halfway through the third wall when the doorbell rings. He’s a mess, paper bits in his hair and sweat and dust coating him, but he goes to answer it.

The woman standing on his stoop looks confused, her dress is ornate and incredibly old-fashioned, and she blinks several times before her eyes focus on him.

“Excuse me. Do you live here now?”

He doesn’t have to try to not be sarcastic, her expression is so pitiable that Jensen never even questions being polite.

“Yes ma’am. I moved in a little bit ago. Can I help you? Do you need me to call someone?”

She shakes her head, blonde hair brushing her eyes briefly before settling back onto the sides of her face.

“I was wondering if. You see I used to live here and-”

Jensen can read between the lines, and he doesn’t make her ask for more.

“Yeah sure, come on in. Do you want some tea?”

She shakes her head again and then enters into the grand foyer and looks around.

For a moment Jensen thinks she’s upset, angry instead of saddened or confused, and then her eyes light on the grandfather clock Jensen had Chris and Aldis help him carry down. Her fingers move out, slow and fluid, and Jensen watches her like they’re both in some sort of dream.

“Here it is. Hello. Hello friend.”

Jensen watches her as she leans forward and presses her face against the wood.

“This was my favorite piece. I had it commissioned for my son. It was to be an heirloom that he would give to his children and so on and so on. For hundreds of years.” She nuzzles the clock, eyes closed and hands stroking it. “He never passed it on of course.”

“Ma’am? Did your son…did he pass away?”

Her lips twist into a small and bitter smile, fingers curling on the wood and feet shuffling along the floor so she can press more firmly against it. The entire length of her body is there now.

“My baby. My sweet little boy. I was going to join him but I’m afraid I got stuck. Funny how the way out is sometimes a prison.”

Jensen opens his mouth to ask what that means, if she’s maybe an escaped patient from somewhere, and then he sees the trickle of blood sliding out from underneath her hair and staining the collar of her cream dress.

“Oh shit. Ma’am you’re bleeding. Let me get some- I’ll be right back!”

He dials 911 as he moves, stiff leg slowing him only a little in his panic, and when Jensen reaches the bathroom the operator is already on with him. He gives her an account of the problem, his name, and then finds the first aid kit as she asks for his address.

When he gives that there’s an awkward silence, and then the voice that comes back is no longer soothing but accusatory.

“Sir, are you aware that prank calling 911 and abusing emergency services is a crime that carries a hefty fine and potential jail time? You’re a little old to be making crank calls.”

Jensen’s hand freezes on the first aid kit, and he hears the confusion dimming his anger.

“What are you talking about? I have a serious emergency. There’s a woman in my house and she-“

“Is she blonde?”

He swallows, eyes moving to the doorway and the empty and silent hall beyond.

“Yes?”

“Pretty, hair in a bun, old timey dress? Talks about her son?”

He doesn’t answer, and apparently that is answer enough.

“Yeah, congratulations, you are my fifth caller in my time here ‘bout this nonsense. I’m glad you learned a little bit about city history, but I have a serious job to do. Get a life loser.”

Jensen wonders dimly if it’s less satisfying for her knowing that she can’t loudly hang up on him since he’s calling from a cell phone. Then he remembers the bleeding woman in his foyer. The one the 911 operator correctly described with no way of doing so.

His hands shake as he pushes up, first aid kit forgotten, and he slowly makes his way back out into the hall and towards the entranceway. Except when Jensen arrives there’s no one there. The front door is still closed, and Jensen opens it thinking he’ll see her wandering blankly down the street. But there’s no one there. Jensen goes through the entire house, checking in rooms and looking through closets, but nothing is moved and no is hiding.

There’s no sign of her anywhere.

 

\----

 

“What are you implying Jensen?”

“I’m not implying anything Matt I am outright telling you that she disappeared.”

Matt’s voice drops a level or tow of volume, becomes condescending and comforting, and Jensen considers punching him in his smug professionally arguing face.

“Jensen, honey, she probably ducked around the house or down the street. Nothing supernatural about it she just got out of sight before you looked out the door.”

“Then what about the operator? What about her knowing everything I was going to say before I said it?”

Matt rolls his eyes and pushes his plate away.

“A repeat prank. Maybe the lady is crazy, or maybe she knows that the house is supposedly haunted and she’s got a bad sense of humor.”

“She was bleeding Matt.”

“Blood packs. They’re easy to get Jensen. Look, honey, I know it scared you but there’s no such thing as ghosts. You used to know that.”

Jensen bites back his knee-jerk responses regarding the many ways things have changed in the last few years and simply stands up from the table and drops his plate in the sink without bothering to rinse it.

“Jensen. Come on you can’t really-“

“I’m going to start running the sander on the ballroom floor. Chris and Aldis are coming over tomorrow to help.”

Matt doesn’t bother to try to stop him, and Jensen is viciously glad. He pops his headphones in, picks a random playlist, and lets the music take over as the sander starts up underneath his hands. He promised Chris and Aldis he would wait for them, it takes quite a bit of power and strength to control the machine, but this is constructive deconstruction and Jensen needs the catharsis of it right now.

He’s too into the zone to notice anything until the hand touches his shoulder, and Jensen leaps out of his skin before shutting the machine off and turning around.

Wide multi-colored eyes stare at him, lips tilted in a half-grin that is tentative and unsure, and Jensen takes a second to remember Jared’s name. When it comes to him he also remembers to pull his headphones out so he’s not shouting when he talks.

“You scared me.”

Jared grins fully at that, dimples appearing, and gestures to the floor.

“Your partner let me in. Said you were busy but I wanted to stop by and see if you needed a hand with anything. You know, neighbor business.”

There’s something about the smile on Jared’s face, the open honesty there, that strikes Jensen wrong in that moment. Maybe it’s because he’s never been the absolute best at making new friends, so scared he’d get it wrong he just avoids the possibility entirely, or maybe it’s that this stranger in his weird slacks and loose shirt is more supportive and understanding than his boyfriend.

“Neighbor business? What, coming over to poke around in cabinets and be nosy?”

Jared quirks an eyebrow, rolls back onto his heels for a second before settling entirely on the floor, and then he plucks the safety glasses off Jensen’s face and puts them on himself. His long hair gets pulled back into a loose, little ponytail, and he nudges Jensen none too gently from the handles of the sander and takes over the machine.

“Anything special I should know?”

He stares blankly at Jared for a long moment before shaking his head, and then Jared is running the machine, a delighted smile on his face, and Jensen watches him for a long time before plucking up a broom and sweeping the areas he’s already gotten.

They work separately but well, Jared following the motions that he either saw Jensen using or working on experience Jensen doesn’t know about. After a long time of nothing but the rumble of the machine and the scrape of the broom Jared flicks the machine off and rubs dust and sweat off his forehead.

“That thing is heavier than you’d expect it to be.”

Jensen looks at him for a moment, weighs his options, and then gives in to the smile he feels building. Jared smiles in return, open and honest, and it doesn’t rub him the wrong way like it did the last time. Something has broken, some intangible barrier that usually stands between Jensen and strangers, and he takes a deep breath before wiping at his own dusty and sweaty face.

“You want a beer man? Only fair to pay you for your services.”

The guy carefully places the safety glasses on the sander before pushing a stray lock of hair out his face and turning back fully to Jensen.

“I’d love a beer. It’s been ages.”

 

\----

 

A beer becomes five, and Jensen is feeling a good buzz as he stares out at the yard with his feet up on the porch railing and Jared lounging beside him. They’ve discussed plans Jensen has for the house the entire time, and Jared’s feedback is naïve but excited.

It’s the buzz. It has to be the buzz because he’s already been treated like an idiot twice tonight.

“I met a ghost today.”

There’s a loud thunk as Jared’s foot slips off the railing and hits the porch. His head is turned to Jensen, he can see Jared’s shocked gaze out of the corner of his eye, and Jensen tries to stay neutral. If Jared starts to mock him he can play it off as a joke.

“Which one?”

And that, that, was not even vaguely in the neighborhood of what Jensen was expecting. He gives up and looks at Jared fully, takes in the combination of expressions he can’t fully read, and then tries to formulate an answer.

“What the fuck do you mean which one?”

Jared’s eyes skitter, land on the yard for half a second, fly up to the porch ceiling, and then come back to Jensen’s face. When they land there is nothing but surprise. Jensen wonders what the other expression was. The one he couldn’t identify.

“There’s more than one.”

Up until this point Jensen has really only experienced Jared’s entirely too friendly and honest demeanor. It’s weird to see this. This sudden evasiveness that makes no sense at all.

“You need to start making sense right now.”

Big hands shift, a beer bottle hides Jared’s face for a second, and when it comes down he looks a little guilty, and a lot more like himself. A puppy dog again instead of something wary and unsure.

“Well, I mean it’s all local legend, but there’s been a lot of…deaths here. So, the stories are about multiple ghosts.”

Jensen swallows reflexively. Yesterday he didn’t believe in ghosts. Today he is being told he lives in a house with more than one.

And he’s pretty sure he already believes it.

It’s not like Jensen has never seen horror movies before. He knows the rules. There’s always the ridiculous holdout, the new homeowners’ refusal to believe what they can see, and that usually ends up in some side character dying.

And since the only people that visit are Chris, Aldis, and Jared that doesn’t seem like a safe bet.

“How many deaths?”

Jared shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

“I don’t know the exact answer to that. Was it a bad ghost? Was it scary?”

“You are entirely too ok with this. Knowing there are stories and hearing someone tell you they saw a ghost are two totally different things. You should be leveling a finger at me and calling me a lunatic.”

An eyebrow raised again, the disbelieving smile pulling out the same dimples.

“Why would I call you a lunatic? I believe in ghosts. Are you gonna call me a lunatic?”

There’s a long silence, Jensen mulling over possible responses, and then finally he gives up and simply drops his head into his hands.

“She was a woman. Blonde. Pretty. Told me she used to live here and then fondled my grandfather clock before her head started bleeding. I called 911 and the operator accused me of prank-calling.”

A big hand settles on his shoulder, cool and firm, and then Jared’s voice is soft and comforting.

“Samantha. Samantha Smith. That’s her name.”

Responses fly into his mouth and die on his tongue. Was her name is the most prevalent, but it seems neither relevant nor helpful.

“And she’s a regular sighting?”

“She’s pretty popular yeah. Died in 1912. Lost her son before that happened though. She’s- everybody always says she’s very sad.”

And did she seem sad? Yes. Sad and confused. Jensen thinks of the implications of that. Of a woman dying over a hundred years ago and being forever trapped in a house unaware of the passing of time and split from the one thing she wanted.

No wonder she’s sad.

He has to ask though, because he’s stepped firmly into the Twilight Zone and it’s time to know more.

“Is she dangerous?”

Jared, who is either the most laid-back human being on the planet or attempting to win an award for world’s strangest conversationalist, laughs.

“Samantha? No. No not dangerous at all. Sad. She’s sad, but she’s not dangerous.”

He sits back, considers for the time it takes to have a little more beer, and then fumbles out his hidden cigarette pack and lights up. He needs it for this conversation, and it’s not like he’ll touch Matt before he has time to shower and throw his clothes in the laundry.

“I don’t know how to feel about this. I mean on the one hand I am really grateful that you’re saying I’m not going insane. On the other hand I really wish you were telling me I was insane like Matt.”

Jensen doesn’t look over to see Jared’s reaction, but he hears the disgust in the tone.

“Matt sounds like an idiot.”

And he’s gratified, he really is, and he kind of wants to laugh, but a line has to be drawn.

“Jared I like you, and I’d like us to get along as neighbors, but you’re going to have to watch it on that one. Matt is my boyfriend. My partner. We’ve been together a long time.”

What does he really expect? Jensen doesn’t know. It’s not what happens. Jared stands up and stretches before emptying his beer and dropping it in the recycling container.

“Sorry man. My bad.”

And with that his strange neighbor disappears into the twilight.

 

\----

 

Jensen considers his options. He really does.

He’s always made fun of people that figure out they’re in a situation like this and then stay. Who would willingly put themselves in danger like that?

For a man that makes his living off the housing market Jensen cannot believe how incredibly judgmental and short-sighted he was. Their finances can’t stand the short sale they’d have to do, the incredible amount of money he’s already invested in materials to fix it up. Plus, how will he ever talk Matt into it? Their relationship is strained enough without them going bankrupt over what Matt sees as Jensen’s descent into madness.

On that note, how is he going to handle Matt? His boyfriend doesn’t believe in ghosts, and it’s not like Jensen is dumb enough to risk a Ouija board or a séance. Even if they did call something there’s two outcomes, one he knows from the silver screen and the other from a long and storied history with the man in question.

If he parades mystics and cardboard windows into the afterlife in front of Matt he’ll get committed. There’s no question about it. Matt might take pity on him and just push him into more therapy and drugs, but either way Jensen will spend his days drooling on Lithium, and he’s had enough psychoactive drugs to know he doesn’t want that. There’s a reason he flushes his current medications.

Trying to argue Matt into it won’t work either, because as Jensen has learned arguing with an attorney is akin to ramming your head into a wall. Either Matt will realize the error of his ways on his own, or he’ll die believing his original position. Too many screaming matches have taught Jensen that the best course of action is wait out the fight and let Matt see where the blame lies on his own.

So that option is out. And even if it would work Jensen knows that when the believer character in the movie contacts the dead things get worse. Right now all he’s had is a moving plate and a sad dead lady. Is that so bad? Really? Jared would have told him if the ghosts were violent. Jensen is pretty sure of that. Which means that as long as he can handle a little bit of weirdness he’s ok. He doesn’t have to really worry about what will happen beyond simply keeping his sanity and not letting the ghosts scare him into some screaming joke.

Maybe it’s not the best plan, but it is a plan. And if there’s a little bit of stubbornness that Jensen isn’t willing to actively recognize, so what? Sure, maybe he’s just being every idiot in every movie, planting his foot and peeing on a piece of property as he screams that it’s his house now, but it is his house now. He paid for it, and by all rights he owns it and everything in it.

Including the ghosts.

So, Jensen decides that since his partner won’t be in this with him he needs allies, and just having Jared won’t do it. Not just because Jensen hasn’t seen his odd neighbor for two days and isn’t entirely sure he didn’t piss the guy off so bad he won’t come back. Jensen needs support, and he knows where to get it.

The same place he always has.

Chris sits quietly across the table from him in the dining room while Aldis bounces in his seat. Jensen has all the wallpaper off and the walls spackled and sanded. All that’s left is to paint now. Ostensibly that’s why his friends have come over. In real life he was planning to deliver the news to them and deal with it if they laughed uproariously or sympathetically suggested he’s still not fully recovered.

But honestly, Jensen doesn’t expect either of those reactions, and his buddies don’t let him down.

“I knew it, man. I knew it the moment we walked in. That’s why that dummy scared me so bad, it wasn’t me being a pansy. I knew it. Didn’t I say it Chris? Didn’t I tell you this looked like the kind of place that would just be full of haints?”

“What are you an eighty-year-old Southern woman? Haints? Since when do you say haints?” Chris’s expression hasn’t changed from the even and considering one he’s had through Jensen’s entire rehashing of the encounter with Samantha, but his fingers have begun to tap gently on the walnut table top.

“Haints man, it’s the word my granny used. It’s appropriate. And you’re just grumpy because I was right. Again.”

Chris waves that off and turns his gaze fully on Jensen.

“What does Matt say?”

Jensen can’t help the scowl. He lectured Jared for his commentary, but there’s a complicated history between Matt and Jensen’s best friends, and he knows that if Chris belittles Matt’s reaction he won’t be able to argue with it.

“He says I’m not right yet. That maybe I need to do more time with Dr. Kripke and the medication.”

There’s a long silence, and then Aldis jumps in before Chris can find the right words. It happens a fair amount.

“Jensen, you still ain’t told him you stopped taking those things?”

A part of him wants to deny. To suggest that the problems he had with the pills were well-received by Matt and that just like Chris and Aldis his boyfriend told him he was better without them. More himself. But he’s never been very good at lying to either of them.

“No. He still thinks I need them.”

They share a glance that Jensen can only half-read, a side-effect of the amount of time they’ve spent together. Jensen misses that feeling of solidarity with his partner.

“Ok Jen, ok. We got your back. What do you need?”

He doesn’t cry, but it’s a close thing. Jensen honestly didn’t realize until that moment how heavy it weighed on him. How bad it was to be here and not have back-up. And Jared, he rationally reminds himself, hardly counts.

“I don’t know. I know in the movies it’s a bad idea to talk to them. Wasn’t that the whole premise of that handycam film? That talking to it gave it power?”

“Paranormal Activity and that wasn’t-“

“Yeah it was. And I think we’ll take a page from their book and not mess with that until we know what’s happening. I’m assuming you don’t want Matt to know you’re looking into this?”

Aldis is shooting miffed looks at Chris but he lets Jensen respond instead of trying to finish off whatever point he was starting to make.

“No. I’d rather he didn’t.”

Chris shifts, but he got one over on Aldis a moment before and that means Aldis has to dominate their half of the conversation or the rest of the night. Or until Chris does it again.

“Well then lucky us, your pretty boy is too busy at the office most of the time to even imagine what’s going on in his own home.”

It’s not meant to be a dig on Jensen, but it comes out that way and Aldis winces as soon as it’s escaped his mouth. Everyone in the room knows what he’s alluding too, and everyone is too good to say it out loud. Chris reaches out and affectionately slaps Aldis’s shoulder, just at the edge of rough, and then leans forward towards Jensen’s side of the table.

“So we start where every good Ghost Hunters episode starts. With research. And since you ain’t fond of leaving the house or strangers you start here. Get that guy you’re talking about to tell you what he knows. Aldis and I will hit up county records and the library and when then we’ll pool what we got and sift through till we get the general idea of the truth.”

Jensen shifts once and then looks out the window.

“I’m not sure if…I might have run Jared off. I got a little prickly when he insulted Matt.”

Chris slaps his hand over Aldis’s mouth and smiles the grin that originally made Jensen hire him.

“Then bat your pretty lashes Jenny boy. Who’s ever been able to resist that?”

 

\---

 

Jensen realizes the next day that he has absolutely no idea which house is Jared’s. He woke up to a note from Matt saying he was going to be in a planning session for their next court date tonight until late and would be eating at the office. Now he’s standing on the porch with his coffee and staring at the surrounding houses, as if looking at their exteriors will give away which one he needs.

The coffee is halfway to his mouth when the bang goes off, and Jensen jumps almost a foot and spills hot coffee down his front and over his mouth and chin. Cursing he pulls the shirt from his skin and turns around to head into the house. It’s not until he steps through the doorway into the cool and dark foyer that it occurs to him that it is a fifty-fifty shot that what he heard was a thing falling, or a ghost.

And he went inside.

For a second Jensen is paralyzed by the enormity of his stupidity, and then he starts moving. Chris was only half-joking, but Jensen has seen an episode or two of Ghost Hunters and he vaguely remembers them saying that the first rule is to be firm. He adds polite because he can’t remember that part but it sounds like a good idea.

“Hello? If you are messing up my house please stop.”

There’s another bang from above him, and Jensen stands totally still with his mostly empty cup clutched in his hand and coffee cooling and staining his shirt. He makes up his mind on a whim and crosses the floor to the stairs. Jensen puts the cup down and climbs the stairs slowly, muscles tight with tension and prepared for flight if that is necessary.

If the hallway is any indication there’s nothing wrong. A window opened and the ridiculous wind he didn’t feel on the front porch knocked over boxes. That’s totally logical. It makes all the sense.

Jensen is going to die a cheesy horror movie death. Matt’s the protagonist. Of course he is. He was always the more charismatic one. Why wouldn’t he be the star of the film?

The door creaks, of course it does, and Jensen has one wild thought about oiling the hinges before he’s faced with an empty room. The adrenaline dump is massive, and oddly comes with disappointment. There’s nothing here. He’s safe.

A hand grabs his shoulder.

 

\-----

 

“I’m so, so sorry Jared. I’m really sorry.”

Jared holds the ice steady over his eye and studies Jensen with the one not covered.

“It’s fine. It was a glancing blow. It’s fine. I don’t even think it’s gonna bruise man. That’s what I get for sneaking up on you.”

He feels terrible about it, but Jared appearing is still fortuitous. Now he doesn’t have to go door to door asking about Jared.

“You know, funny thing, I was actually about to go to your house when I heard the banging.”

Jared raises the uncovered eyebrow and then grins big and full.

“Hey, that’s great man. I thought you were still mad at me.”

That takes him a second.

“Mad at you? I thought you’d be angry I snapped at you.”

A big hand full of ice flaps and Jensen sees that as of this moment there’s no swelling or bruising. He’s glad. Although he really thought he hit Jared harder than that. Then again, it’s been years since Jensen has had to hit someone, so who really knows?

“Was nothing. You were standing up for your partner, as you should. I thought maybe you’d need some more renovation help.”

Jensen hesitates, it’s not what he wants, but he could use the help and the distraction of working with his hands will ease whatever information Jared is capable of giving him.

“Actually yeah. I need to put a second coat up in the dining room. You any good with a paintbrush?”

The smile he gets in response is so big it threatens to split Jared’s face, and the dimples become little craters.

“I’m an expert.”

His assertion is proven shortly afterward. Jared’s brush strokes are even and perfect, and Jensen takes the roller and lets Jared handle all the careful trim work.

“You do this for a living?”

“Well, not this specifically, but I do wield a brush. I’m an artist.”

Jensen can’t help the smile that the pride in Jared’s voice brings. He’s met a fair number of artists before that talk about it like it’s a curse or a punishment. Jared couldn’t seem happier to be an artist.

“You must do pretty well for yourself. Anything I’ve seen?”

“Nope. I’m the best kind of an artist. I’m an investment opportunity.”

He laughs, waits until he’s gotten a hold of himself again to meet Jared’s eye and lift his eyebrow.

“You mean you’re looking for a patron?”

“No. Not at all. I don’t need extra money, I get by. No I mean if you buy my stuff now it’ll be worth millions after my death is publicized.”

Laughing again, more than he has since the accident, and Jensen has to place his hand against his side to stop the rising cramp that he can feel from the underused muscles. Jared’s smiling and nodding, but it’s obvious that he’s at least a little serious.

“Well you should show me your work. I’d love to make millions.”

Jared’s smile turns a little wistful, kind of sweet, and he finishes a stroke and then rests the brush down on the paint can.

“One day I’ll show you Jensen. So what’s next after you paint in here?”

It’s kind of a sudden change, and also the perfect segue into the real reason he was going to look for Jared. Beyond laughter and free labor.

“Actually, I was wondering if I could ask you some things about the house’s history. You know, general knowledge stuff.”

The smile loses its wistful quality and becomes strong and warm.

“You gonna befriend some ghosts Jensen?”

“I just might.”

 

\-----

 

They’re on the bench this time, and Jensen wonders why Jared would pick the less comfortable seating position. The view is beautiful, he’ll admit that, but the iron digs wrong in places and the grand old tree’s shade is the only thing that keeps him from direct, powerful Texas sunshine.

“It’s an old Southern tradition to name houses-“

“Actually people do that all over depending on-“

Jared’s look is mock reproachful, and Jensen shuts up.

“You wanna tell this story? I didn’t think so. So, the town was settled in 1844, and Oak Tree was built in 1855.”

“Oak Tree?”

Jared gestures to the tree beside them and lifts an eyebrow.

“What did you think they all had unique and grand names? Sometimes it’s just observational.”

He’s shaking his head before he can stop himself, because apparently Jensen is the worst sort of audience.

“This house was built in 1913. Sera told me about it when she sold it to me.”

“This house was finished in 1913. In 1855 a man named Jeffrey Dean Morgan built a smaller house around a fireplace of imported Italian brick as a gift to his wife. A grand fireplace for the promise of a grand homestead.”

Jensen thinks of the old brick he touched on his first visit. Of the tiles he ordered to put around and over some of it. He scraps that plan mentally now that he knows what the brick means.

“Except he didn’t finish the house. He died in the tornado in 1856 and the only thing left standing was the fireplace. The widow Morgan buried Mr. Morgan, and the property reverted to his brother. He let the land sit unused for years before selling it to a nephew named Mark Pellegrino. Pellegrino built the actual house and settled into it. When he died childless of a heart attack he passed it down to a family friend.”

He’s picking up the pattern without Jared pointing it out. Still, Jensen waits because maybe his mind is just too morbid for this conversation. Maybe he’s making connections where they don’t exist.

“After that it went up on the general market and has had a number of owners. Some of whom died here. Or moved after they lost a loved one. Oak Tree has broken a number of hearts.”

Jensen sits very still looking out at the trees before he finds his voice.

“How long have you lived near here?”

Jared shrugs, everything about him forced casual. The subject is melancholy, but there’s something almost personal about Jared’s story-telling.

“Seems like a hundred years, but that’s how small towns work. They stretch time out until you think you’re going insane.”

“You know so much about the place.”

“My momma always used to say you know the most about a town by its ghost stories. I guess I just applied that to the neighborhood.”

“Anybody else’s house haunted? Maybe I can join a support group. Talk to people who know the best way to keep your shit from getting moved.”

Jared squints for a second before shaking his head.

“Nope. Nobody else I know in this area. Is it that bad, Jensen?”

“You ever seen a ghost?”

There’s a long pause, and then Jared shakes his head.

“Not a single time in my life.”

Jensen wants to ask about that, because it has the sad note again, but he leaves it alone. He doesn’t know Jared all that well, and their conversations already have a tendency to lunacy. Instead he looks back out at the little copse of trees.

“These people died Jared. They died in this house, and they all had a reason for it. I’m not safe and neither is Matt. It’s pretty bad.”

Jared turns then, takes Jensen’s hand, and he’s so earnest it’s almost painful to look at.

“I won’t let you die Jensen. You’re safe here.”


	3. Chapter 3

Swing low  
Grey bones  
I don't know  
If I'll ever be whole again

 

Chris and Aldis are back the next day, and the three of them take up residency in the ballroom since Matt is home and this is still top secret. It doesn’t really matter where they go, because Matt doesn’t necessarily get along with Aldis and Chris too well, but they move as far out of his way as possible.

“So we found out a whole bunch of shit. All told there’s been over thirty deaths in this house starting with the original owner Jeffrey-“

“Dean Morgan. His wife buried him. Jared told me some of this. Over thirty? How many over thirty?”

“Not sure. But the-” Aldis is talking, which means Chris is stewing over something and that never ends well for Jensen.

“What do you mean not sure? Like the records were faulty or you just lost count and forgot to take notes?”

Aldis is shaking his head as Chris flips through papers and documents.

“Like, not sure as in six people went missing and are presumed dead, but it was never proven they died in the house. They just disappeared. And the deaths Jensen. They’re all weird. Suicides, young heart attacks, drowning in bathtubs, murder suicides. And falls. Three falls from the top floor. One down the stairs. That one was a little girl in 1890.”

He holds out shaking hands and Chris gives him the photocopies of the news articles and death notices they collected. The sheaf is thick and heavy, and hangs in hands as a condemnation of his decision to stay. To weather out the storm of the paranormal in the interest of keeping his macho defined territory.

Jensen flips through noting names and dates. There doesn’t appear to be a particular pattern for the deaths. Random acts of violence and accidents are mixed up with genders and ages, and Jensen’s barely able to put the papers down in one neat stack when he’s done.

This is a house of death. Jared’s promise from the day before rings hollow in the face of so much damning evidence.

“Jen, you ever get those blueprints?”

Chris looks solemn, serious, and Jensen realizes he completely forgot about the damn blueprints.

“Yeah. They got here last week, but I haven’t looked at them yet. Why?”

“I think you got more house than you planned. I think you got something else you don’t know you bought.”

Jensen lifts an eyebrow, and Chris stands instead of answering. They file out after Chris like children in line, down the steep stairs that Jensen is starting to see differently and out the back door. Chris heads for the copse of trees, a man on a mission, and Jensen feels a cold sweat break out as they reach the edge of them and step into the shady area. He hasn’t really looked around the yard at all. It hasn’t been warm enough to really worry about upkeep, and gardening wasn’t the highest on his list of improvements.

They make their way through several feet of thick pine, and then the trunks stop and there’s a clearing.

A cemetery.

He can’t speak, can’t move, and Aldis sucks in a breath beside him and shakes his head.

“Holy shit you were right. Worst realtor ever.”

Chris nods seriously and crouches beside the crumbling little stone marker closest to them.

“Jeff something. Must be the first owner” He looks to the next one. “Name’s worn smooth on this one.”

The next stone has been destroyed, and Chris skips it. Jumps a ways down the line.

“Chad Lindberg, 1982. Samantha Ferris, 1990.”

Jensen doesn’t need him to read anymore, and he waves Chris off as he sits heavily in the line of trees. He doesn’t cross onto the actual burial ground. Doesn’t need to. He lives in it.

“Why would the families agree to let their loved ones be buried here instead of in a regular cemetery with them? This isn’t a family plot.”

Chris’s head is tilted as he considers the stones, but Aldis offers up an answer.

“Shame? Anger? The Chad guy hung himself in the front hallway, and Samantha killed her boyfriend and then herself.”

Jensen’s eyes scan the headstones. There are about twenty in total, and he wonders how many of them are unreadable. How many met the haunting in the house and insisted on staying. If there’s space for Matt and himself.

“I’ve gotta move. If I don’t move then I’ll be one of these markers. I’ve gotta sell the house and move.”

Aldis looks troubled, but Chris nods his head seriously and holds out a roughened hand to help Jensen up.

“I want to borrow those blueprints Jen.”

 

\----

 

“You want to what?”

They’re eating dinner in the dining room, much nicer now that it is full of the light and airy colors that Jensen picked to make it look more inviting and open. The irony that he brightened up the room he and Matt fight in the most is not lost on him.

“Move. This house is too much Matt. There’s structural damage in more places than we thought, and no amount of cosmetic changes will cover that. It’ll cost a fortune to fix, and that’s after fixing the foundation.”

Matt lifts an eyebrow and puts his fork down carefully, and that’s how Jensen knows that this is about to be a really ugly fight.

“The foundation, Jensen?”

“The foundation.” It doesn’t matter what he says. Matt knows nothing about home construction and has never listened to the number of lectures Jensen has given him on the subject. “That’s what makes it groan like that. Also why the floor isn’t level. The ground is a clay-based sand with limestone underneath, and the foundation wasn’t put down level on it. The combination of soft soil and soft rock means that sort of irresponsible construction gets worse over time.”

What Jensen isn’t counting on, and he probably should have, is that Matt has never been one to just let go of something.

“And they didn’t catch that in the inspection why?”

Jensen shifts uncomfortably and looks around the room. He doesn’t have a good answer for that and the next step is completely predictable.

“Fine. We’ll file suit and the money will cover the repairs. Can we stay here while they do them?”

“You didn’t even want this house Matt. You wanted a condo downtown. I don’t understand why you’re so set on staying here.”

Matt’s eyes narrow and then open into the look Jensen was dreading most.

“Ghosts. This is about the ghost thing again. I saw the Tivo Jensen. Ghost Hunters? Really? I know you said you didn’t need-“

“I don’t need-“

“To see Dr. Kripke anymore but it’s obvious that you’re still not well enough to go without the therapy. So I’m going to call him and we’re going to get you guys meeting on a regular basis again. In the meantime maybe he can call in about upping your meds until-“

“Matt!”

Jensen rarely raises his voice to his boyfriend. It’s never served him well before, because the louder he gets the more reasonable and logical Matt gets. It feeds into itself until the fight is out of control and Jensen seems like a child screaming at his parents as they look down on him from above.

The good part about it is before that happens it gets Matt’s attention, and Jensen takes a deep breath and steels himself so that he sounds logical when he responds.

“Matt, I’m not taking the meds. They make me a zombie, a thing you’d know if you were ever around, and I don’t like that. I don’t like not functioning. As long as I’m not trying to drive or do something that freaks me out I’m fine. So no meds. And no Kripke. You might not believe this is happening, but it is. This house Matt. This house is dangerous, and it’s been that way for a long time. I know we’ll take a hit. I know. But the settlement will cover that. Wouldn’t like you like some modern, straight-edged place right down the street from your firm? You can go to bars with your colleagues without a long drive. You can get delivery of any food you want. It’s your paradise.”

His boyfriend stares at him for what seems an unreasonably long time, hands lax beside his silverware, before he stands and pushes his chair back.

“Jensen. I’m only going to say this once. You wanted this place. You begged and wheedled for it and I gave in. We sunk our money into it, we moved everything out here, and I agreed to make that long and slow commute every day just so you could bring Chris and Aldis out here to turn your former career into a hobby. You can’t just-“

“It’s not your money!” It’s a roar, and Jensen regrets it instantly. The look of triumph on Matt’s face says it all.

“No, you’re right; my firm got it for you after the accident. It’s your money. I’m sorry I thought our funds were one since we’re in a committed relationship. But by all means, bankrupt yourself selling the house. But know that you’re doing it illogically, and that your legal counsel is advising against it.”

With that Matt moves out of the room smoothly and gracefully, and Jensen is left to reply to an empty room.

“You’re not my legal counsel you’re my boyfriend.”

 

\----

 

Jensen’s pissed, he’s had one too many beers, and he’s pretty sure he’s sleeping alone tonight. Matt’s door is closed and soft music plays beyond it. He thinks he can hear Matt’s fingers flying over his keyboard, but whether Matt is on the internet enjoying himself or working to make himself grumpier is a complete unknown.

And Jensen isn’t sticking his head in to find out.

He makes his way up the stairs, noting a spot that needs sanding down soon, and then on the second landing Jensen hears the giggle.

Whirling around, hand losing its grip on the wood, Jensen sees the little girl standing in the bathroom doorway with her fingers pressed to her rosebud mouth, and then the world goes sideways as his bad leg gives and he falls backwards. Everything is in slow motion as Jensen begins to fall, and he can picture the whole thing in his head. He’s going to bounce on the steps, hard wood snapping limbs and neck for the fall, and when he hits the bottom he will be a crumpled pile of man.

Matt will come out in the morning to find Jensen, maybe trip over him on his way up to use the shower, or maybe out of the corner of his eye when he’s getting coffee, and he’ll feel guilt and release. It will simultaneously be the best and worst thing that ever happened to him. Jensen wonders briefly if Matt will check into that foundation lie to see if it is a lawsuit.

And then, just as Jensen feels the brush of the step with the back of his head his arms pull practically out of their sockets and his body jerks to a stop. He opens his eyes to see a man and woman standing over him, each holding one of his hands. The man’s eyes are dark, he’s in the process of growing an impressive beard, his clothes look like something out of a period piece, and his salt and pepper hair is slicked back. The woman beside him is pretty, dark blonde hair falling around her face and brown eyes warm and soft. She’s in a pantsuit, sharply cut and tailored to fit her exactly, shoulder pads obvious beneath the material.

“That was close!” The woman sounds both impressed and relieved.

“Steady boy, you almost took a tumble there.”

Jensen loses consciousness to the sound of his rumbling voice.

 

\-----

 

Jensen wakes up on the hard wood floor, shoulders aching and Matt peering into his eyes. They stare at each other until Jensen can croak out a phrase.

“Am I dead?”

Matt’s pale, hands shaking, and he tilts Jensen’s head back and forth before shaking his own.

“Jesus Jen, God, I really thought.” Matt trails off, doesn’t have to finish the sentence, and then carefully helps Jensen up.

“Yeah. Me too.”

“What happened? Did your leg give out? Did you have another spell?”

Jensen bites back the instant response that fainting spells are for little old ladies and Southern Belles.

“Leg gave out.” Jensen doesn’t mention the little girl, or the two people that caught him. He doesn’t mention that they saved his life or that now he owes the ghosts in his home a favor. Instead he lets Matt help him to the bathroom and then to bed. A stunningly familiar action, and one that they’ve perfected over the course of his rehabilitation.

Matt slips into the bed beside him, hand reaching out and finding Jensen’s with flawless accuracy. It’s comfortable, familiar, and Jensen’s pulse is steady as he grips back and holds on.

It seems like forever ago that he met Matt, just another student in the library desperately cramming for finals and hoping that this wouldn’t be the time that waiting to the last second was a death knell. Matt had been so cute, buried under a stack of books and rubbing ceaselessly at his eyes. Jensen had still worn glasses then, and he was only a semester away from finishing his degree and starting a business with his two best friends.

The whole world had been in front of them then, and they were the kings who would conquer it. There was never any question really, and their first date only assured Jensen that this would be forever.

Now they barely speak, locked in a house neither of them really wants to live in and unsure how to even properly describe the depths of their stagnant rage.

But they still have this. They can still hold on if they try. Whether or not they should is probably up for debate, God knows Chris and Aldis think so, but Jensen doesn’t need that tonight. Tonight he needs a familiar hand holding his and the sound of Matt’s breaths evening out next to him as his partner slips into sleep.

 

\----

 

In the morning Jensen wakes up to Matt’s terrible attempt at breakfast, and they sit in the dining room and enjoy a meal together. When he asks Matt why he isn’t dressed yet his partner responds with a simple, “I thought I’d stick around today. Maybe I can lend a hand somewhere.”

Jensen thinks about it for a second before nodding.

“I’m putting down the second coat of varnish in the ballroom. It smells awful, but you get used to it.”

Matt nods and then stretches out his arms.

“I think I can handle that. Let’s try it.”

Jensen goes over the process with him, stresses the importance of putting down smooth and even coats over the base coat, and then let’s Matt go on his own. They work in companionable silence for a bit until Jensen tries to start conversation.

“How’s the Matheson case going?”

Matt laughs and dips his long-handled brush.

“Over. We took those assholes to the cleaners. I’ve never understood how insurance companies think they can just deny every claim under the sun and no one’s going to put up a fuss.”

Jensen rubs the back of his neck and thinks of when the accident first happened and he considered not doing anything. Just taking the offer and walking away. Matt’s not talking about that, but it’s an association that can’t be helped.

“Hey, I didn’t mean-“

“I know. It’s ok. You were right then and you’re right now.”

Matt shifts awkwardly before leaning the handle of the brush against the wall and crossing the floor to Jensen’s side. His hand lands warm and heavy on Jensen’s shoulder.

“Jensen. I won’t ever know what it was like. I’m sorry. But what happened…it was terrible and it wasn’t your fault. And getting compensation for it wasn’t a crime. The insurance company paid not the kid’s family.”

He wants to shake the hand off. It’s supposed to be helpful. He’s heard it so many times from Matt, from his friends, from Kripke, but it’s not. It never is. Because no matter how many times they tell him, no matter how objectively true it is, Jensen knows what the real ending to his story is. They can’t understand because Jensen has never told anyone, and he plans to keep it that way.

It takes a concentrated effort to accept the comfort, to remember that it’s being offered because Matt cares about him still, after all this time. After everything they’ve been through, and how far they’ve drifted apart.

One shaky hand reaches up and takes Matt’s, and they stand there staring at each other until Jensen can even get up the strength to clear his throat and respond.

“Matt. I know things have been…bad, and I’ve probably never said this before but you’ve done the best you can with a bad situation. This wasn’t where we pictured ourselves at this point, and you’ve worked so hard to get me through this. I know you’ve given up a lot, and thank you.”

His partner’s smile lights up, the smile Jensen first saw when he asked Matt to dinner that day so long ago, and Jensen smiles honestly in return. He leans in and kisses Matt once, tasting that now foreign happiness, and then pulls back and runs a finger along one soft lip.

They spend the rest of the day working together, talking, and it’s good. It’s light and easy, and just like old times. They don’t make love, but they haven’t done that since the accident. It doesn’t matter. The togetherness, the solidarity that Jensen has been missing is resurrected.

Except to Jensen, the kiss almost felt like goodbye.

 

\----

 

He’s alone, Matt’s at work and Chris and Aldis are on a job, and Jensen still hasn’t asked Jared which house he’s in. As far as he can tell his neighbor shows up any time Jensen really focuses on him, so Jensen lets it go and waits for Jared to come around.

In the mean time he’s got work to do, because if he’s going to ever get out of this place it’s going to have to be in better condition. Jensen’s in the foyer, tacking up replacement molding for a section that was damaged and mentally matching the stain on the original pieces to the catalogue of varnish he has outside in the shed.

The steps are loud on the wood floor, heels ringing strong and sure on the boards, and Jensen finds himself frozen in place with the hammer in his hand. He considers staying right here, finishing his work, and just pretending it’s not happening. But the ghosts saved him, and it might be one of them.

It doesn’t escape him that he’s only met three of the potential specters in Oak Tree, and there’s no promise that the rest are as innocent and harmless as those he’s already encountered. Jensen gets up slowly, hammer hanging loosely in one hand and eyes focused on the archway between the foyer and the formal living room.

He can’t see anything from this angle, but he’s granted the ability to peek inside the opening and look to see if there’s anyone there. And sure as shit, there’s the guy that saved his life pacing up and down the floorboards and staring morosely into the grand fireplace.

Jensen puts the hammer down completely and steps out into the main floor. He’s not sure if his pulse is racing because he’s excited or because he’s terrified. It could honestly be both. What he does know in this moment is that he’s about to talk to a ghost, a ghost that saved his life, and that’s kind of something right?

“Hey.”

It’s not the most intelligent starter, but hey, it’s traditional and this ghost looks pretty old.

The man turns, eyes sweeping over Jensen momentarily before focusing. And Jensen knows instantaneously that something is wrong.

“What are you doing here? Are you trespassing?”

Jensen blinks, once, twice, and then realizes what exactly the ghost is asking.

“No. No this is- do you not remember me? You saved my life. Like three days ago.”

The ghost tilts his head and then crosses the floor and grabs Jensen’s shirt.

“Where is my wife? Did you take her? Give me my wife back!”

He’s roaring, inches from Jensen’s face, and his hands are cold and solid on Jensen’s shirt as the ghost lifts him just a bit from the floor. Jensen can’t find words, mouth dry and heart racing, and then suddenly Jared is there.

“Stop! Stop right now and let him go!”

And to Jensen’s immense surprise the ghost does. Jared moves in between them, and Jensen has to lean slightly to see properly. The ghost looks unsure, eyes moving around the room again before he focuses on the two living people in the room.

He looks…abashed. Like a drunk that’s just realized they’ve crossed the line from funny to obnoxious. He rubs his face once, an apology clear in his expression, and then he disappears.

And then Jensen is against the wall with his legs trembling and threatening to give way and Jared is holding him up by his shoulders and looking him over as he talks a mile a minute.

“Did he hurt you? Did he scare you? Are you ok? Do you need to sit down? Do you need some water? I can get you some water. Sit down and I’ll get you some water. Do you want to sit in another room? He won’t come back, but you can move rooms. I bet you don’t want to be in here. Let’s move you to the kitchen and I’ll get you some water.”

Jensen is pretty sure the only reason Jared stops for breath is because Jensen holds a hand up to stop him.

“Jared. I can’t. Did you just. What happened?”

His neighbor blushes, and then a strong arm slips around his shoulders and he’s being led to his kitchen and maneuvered into a chair. Jensen lets himself be manhandled, not an easy task, and then a glass of water is shoved into his hands before Jared takes the chair across from him and hooks his feet into the rungs like a little kid instead of a giant man.

“That was one of the ghosts. Morgan I think. Are you ok, Jensen?”

He wants to say no. Wants to tell Jared that he’s so far from ok it’s not even funny. Because what the fuck has his life become that he has random encounters with ghosts? Where is he at that the same ghost that keeps him from cracking his skull in one day is the one that terrifies him the next? Fuck Casper these things are apparently schizophrenic and Jensen has enough of his own mental issues he can’t add the deceased’s onto his plate.

Apparently he’s said most if not all of this aloud, because Jared stares at him for several moments with his mouth open before reaching out and rubbing Jensen’s shoulder.

“You don’t seem crazy to me.”

It was the last thing he expected.

“Yeah, well, appearances are deceiving and you think it’s perfectly normal to talk about ghosts. Or walk in on one attacking someone.”

Jared looks shocked and then the shock morphs into a rushed concern.

“No, wait, Jensen that wasn’t what he- you said he saved you the other day?”

“Yeah. I almost fell down the stairs and he and this woman in a suit caught me.”

Jared nods eagerly and then leans into Jensen’s space, second hand joining the first on Jensen’s opposite shoulder and squeezing earnestly.

“That’s. Ok, so, my grandma used to be real into this stuff and she told me that sometimes ghosts get confused. That it’s hard for them to remember sometimes that they’re dead, or that time has passed. So that first time, when he saved you? That was the real guy. This was just him being confused and not knowing where or when he was. I bet he feels really bad about it, man. I bet he’s gonna beat himself up.”

Jensen’s mouth moves with no sound, and then surprised and creaky laughter escapes him.

“You’re saying a ghost is gonna feel guilty for properly haunting me?”

Something dark and sad crosses Jared’s face before it’s replaced by a tentative smile.

“Yeah. That’s exactly what I’m saying. I’m saying that if he already established that he doesn’t want you hurt it doesn’t make any sense for him to try to actively hurt you now, does it?”

And no. It doesn’t. It’s crazy person logic, but Jensen lives in crazy land now. He’s got to adapt.

“So what do I do? It’s not exactly safe to live with dead things that occasionally think I’m the enemy.”

Jared shifts in his chair, hands still on Jensen’s shoulders, and then he seems to steel himself for something.

“Tell them no. Be firm. Just like I was a minute ago. They’ll listen I promise.”

“Jared? Have you met these ghosts before?”

“I’ve…I’ve talked with previous owners and I…yeah. Once or twice.”

“The first time we met why didn’t you say something then? Why didn’t you tell me everything?”

Jared blushes, eyes finally moving away from Jensen’s face and hands slipping off Jensen’s shoulders. He feels oddly bereft without them weighing him down.

“I. It was selfish Jensen I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to leave.”

“Didn’t want me to- dude how hard up are you for friends that you lied to keep a strange neighbor?”

He feels bad the second he asks it. Jared looks ashamed, eyes down and head ducked, a scolded little boy. Jensen wants to take it back but it’s too late.

“I can’t- I’m not good at getting out much. There’s not a lot of opportunity.”

And Jensen can understand that. He lives it. His hand shoots out and catches one of Jared’s big ones, feels the cool skin and rubs it with his thumb.

“I’m sorry. That was rude. I’m not really great at this either.”

Jared looks up then, smile breaking out and dimples showing up, and Jensen thinks that maybe he lucked out on one thing with this move.

“Jared, if I order pizza you want to hang out for a bit? No working just watching movies or something?”

“Yeah. Yeah Jensen I’d really like that.”

The pizza ends up being delicious, Jared is excellent company, and Jensen relaxes into the couch beside his neighbor, his friend, and enjoys casual shoving and laughter as movies roll in the background.

 

\----

 

Jensen is locked in place, facing a terror so great that there are no words for it. He closes his eyes and counts down before calling out loudly and crossing his fingers that his plaintive cries for help will reach Matt.

“Matt? Matt? The toilet paper is out!”

He wasn’t the last one to use the bathroom, and there’s no guilt involved whatsoever in dragging his partner into his problem since it is entirely Matt’s fault.

The door cracks open, and Jensen looks up expecting one thing and getting another entirely. The hand extended through the door is foreign to him, white, slim, and male but not Matt’s. The voice that comes with it is certainly not his boyfriend’s.

“Here you go man.”

Jensen sits dumbstruck, hands flat on his thighs and mouth open, and the roll of paper wiggles just within his reach.

“Dude. Are you gonna make me come in there? You can reach this. Grab it.”

“Wh-who are you?” His voice cracks halfway through the first word, and Jensen realizes just how vulnerable he is in his current position. Again he thinks that this is not what he signed up for.

“Chad Lindberg. Pleased ta’ meetcha man, now can you take this? I got eternity but you don’t.”

Jensen reaches out slowly, takes the roll, and the hand disappears from view before the door closes. When he’s done and washed up he stands with his hand on the knob for a full minute before he gets up the courage to open the door.

What waits for him on the other side is not what he’s prepared for at all.

The guy is slim, sandy blonde hair cut in a mullet, grey-blue eyes a little big for his face, and a sleeveless Dokken tee hanging off his gangly frame. Jensen swallows hard and looks up and down the hall hoping that maybe Jared will mysteriously appear again.

When he doesn’t Jensen focuses on his latest apparition.

“Thanks. For the toilet paper.”

The ghost, Chad, makes a noise and smiles easy and free before holding out a hand. When Jensen goes to shake it Chad instead slaps palms with him and then leans back into the wall crossing his arms over his chest.

“No problem, dude. No problem at all. Man I remember running outta toilet paper. Worst thing in the damn world right? Ain’t nothing like finding a back up roll and knowing you ain’t gonna have to beg someone to help or try to get rid of the skids later.”

All at once the name hits Jensen, and even as his head is nodding in commiseration for the crudely put thought his finger is coming up in an accusatory point.

“You’re the guy that hung himself.”

Chad smiles at that, all easy-going charm, and nods as the long part of his mullet dips and swings around his ears.

“Am indeed dude, and good call! Hey, listen, I was wondering if you could do me a favor. You know, in return for the TP save?”

Jensen shores himself for something incredibly terrible.

“Do you need- should I contact someone for you or is it something- you can’t possess me.”

Chad stares at him and then bursts out laughing, half bent over and clutching his stomach. Jensen takes the laughter fairly good-naturedly. When the ghost is finally done he wipes at his eyes and then shakes his head.

“Nah man, nothing like that. I’m not into dudes, no offense you know, not my bag. I was wondering if you could buy some Pabst? It’s been an awful long time since I had any, no Pulsers with any taste round here, and I’m dying for some good brew.”

“You think Pabst is a good beer?”

Chad looks at him like he’s the crazy one.

 

\----

 

Jared’s laughing. Jensen’s not sure is Jared’s laughing at him, or for him, or some combination but he’s starting to get used to the feeling that nothing will ever be in his control again.

“So did you buy any?”

He shifts uncomfortably and rubs the back of his neck.

“Well, yeah, I mean it was the least I can do. The guy is dead and he helped me out when I needed it.”

Jared nods sagely, and then bursts into laughter again.

“It’s not that funny.”

Jared’s laughter goes up a notch.

“No seriously it’s not. Jared. It’s not that funny.”

Except. Maybe it sort of is. That or Jared’s laughter is contagious because eventually Jensen finds himself laughing too.


	4. Chapter 4

Left my spine in the wedding chapel  
Full of people  
Feet turning into lead  
Lost a leg at the iron foundry  
Where they found me dead

 

Chris is on his front porch with a sledgehammer.

Jensen blinks sleepily and then takes a long sip of his coffee.

“Good morning.”

“To you too. Gonna knock down a wall on your second floor.”

Jensen lifts an eyebrow, and then moves out of the way. He’s not sure if Chris showed up this early to make sure Jensen wouldn’t argue, or because his friend is part of that evil group that consider themselves morning people.

He pours Chris a cup of coffee and then rambles through the hallways until he finds his friend strapping on safety glasses in one of the extra rooms on the second floor. The blueprints for the house are spread out on the floor in front of him, and Chris has stripped down to just his undershirt.

“You know, if you wanted to get naked around me I’m pretty sure you shoulda brought Aldis too.”

Chris grunts, hefts the sledgehammer up, and then slams it into the wall. Jensen’s not sure what he expected. It’s not what happens.

The door slams open, and he can hear the same thing happening up and down the hall and in other parts of the house. The windows fly open, and a low scream begins to build from the floor. Jensen clutches the coffee mugs in his hands and looks around as Chris pauses before slamming the hammer into the wall again.

Noise ratchets up, one of the windows slams shut so hard that glass flies around them, and Chris squares his jaw and fixes his grip.

“I seen Aldis when his computer crashes. You ain’t scaring me.” And then he begins to swing the hammer again, slamming into the wall methodically as the door crashes in and out of its frame and Jensen keeps his feet only through sheer willpower.

Chris doesn’t have to live with these people.

And then, just as suddenly as it began, it stops.

Because Chris has broken through the plaster wall. Chris has exposed a door.

 

\---

 

Aldis arrives a little while later. They’ve cleaned up the glass, and Chris is taping plastic over the window when his boyfriend comes crashing into the room wide eyed and armed with a bat.

“Little late to be the hero, darling.”

Jensen lets out one shaky laugh and goes back to staring at the door. A few more precise strikes have widened the hole around it, and they can open it any time. Jensen agreed that they shouldn’t without Aldis.

“Were they gruesome? All rotted and corpsified? Did they make Chris at least a little scared Jensen? Say yes.”

He wants to, because it scared him, but he has to shake his head. Part of Jensen wants to go get Jared. He wants his new friend there for this, because if anyone understands this place and its residents it’s Jared. But he doesn’t know which house Jared is, and he’s not ready to go outside at the moment. He’s not willing to part company with living people and be alone for even one second, or to leave living people he cares about alone in his home.

“I think he missed his target once.” Jensen gestures to a dent to the left of the hole, and Aldis crows until Chris eyes it critically and shrugs.

“Nobody’s a hundred percent accurate.”

And whether or not it scared Chris they’re all doing everything they can without saying it to not open that door. To not find out what’s on the other side.

One of the differences between modern homes and older ones is the quality of the walls. Jensen has explained it to so many homeowners and potential ones that he could recite the speech in his sleep. Older homes made their walls out of solid plaster. They’re stronger, thicker, and much more expensive. Which means they take more work and time, but they’re worth it.

To put one up here, just to cover a door, has a pretty dark undertone and Jensen isn’t sure he wants to know what would make a person do that. Not in a house with the history of this one.

Still, it’s his house, and he’s agreed to keep it. As long as he has to. Jensen thinks of Jared’s hands on his shoulders, of his firm promise to never let the ghosts hurt Jensen, and steps forward before grasping the doorknob.

Aldis and Chris are right behind him, two warm and vital reminders that he is not alone, and Jensen turns the knob and pushes. Nothing happens.

“Locked.”

They stand for a long moment perplexed, and then Chris reaches for the sledgehammer and Jensen steps out of the way. A minute later the door is open, and Jensen can see the strain his friend is suffering from not making a joke about magic keys or being an excellent knocker.

Stairs lead up in a passage beyond the opening, and natural daylight shines down them. Whatever is up there has windows facing the outside, and is a part of the attic. Chris’s suspicion about its size finally makes sense.

Jensen leads the way. The stairs creak under their combined weight, but just like everything else in the house they are solidly built and made to withstand.

At the top Jensen pauses before moving out of the way of his friends. Chris still has the sledgehammer. It’s odd, incongruous with the room, and Jensen tries to take in the mise en scene at the same time he wants to pick up every detail.

It’s the same wood as the rest of the attic, but it’s lighter somehow. Without the clutter of all the people that came to the house before it has an openness that calls to Jensen. The windows are the same size as the rest of the attic’s, indistinguishable from the outside, but there’s a skylight set in that brings extra light and makes Jensen wonder why they weren’t put in the rest of the attic as well.

The room has a cabinet that is shut, dust lies heavy in every part of the room, and coats the multitude of canvases that sit on tripods all around. One large canvas is an oil painting of a beautiful woman, naked and reclining backwards on stairs Jensen recognizes. Holding the pose on those sharp steps must have been a bitch.

He hears Aldis’s reaction before he sees it, a sharp screech that is entirely warranted and yet definite mockery fodder, and then he sees Chris’s eyes widen as his friend’s mouth falls open. All of it is in perfect detail, burned into his brain, as his eyes sweep over the sight and then slow to take it back in. There’s a mummified corpse in the chair in front of one canvas. An unfinished portrait of a nude man. In the same position as the woman that came before it but with an entirely different facial expression. The woman’s is open and innocent, the man’s is sultry and knowing.

Distantly Jensen wonders how long the body has been locked up here for the summers to turn it into this. How no one ever smelled the stench of it through the walls. Now it has no smell but dust and acrid fear.

“That’s gotta be the painter that went missing. Polish guy.”

And Jensen knows. Knows the second Chris says it, maybe knew it before then, but he doesn’t want to say it out loud and make it true. Doesn’t want to lose what little footing he had left in reality.

“Jared. Jared Padalecki.” Aldis’s face is an ashy gray. “The one whose wife went nuts and was committed.”

Jared’s married? It’s a betrayal and Jensen doesn’t know why. Somehow greater than the one where Jared befriended him without mentioning that he’d been dead the whole time.

A hand lands on his shoulder, and Jensen knows it already. Would know it anywhere. Aldis shrieks again and Chris raises the sledgehammer threateningly.

But Jensen is too worn out and disconnected to do more than smile weakly and nod at the corpse in front of him. Force the words out of the empty space that used to be his reasoning brain.

“Hi Jared.”

 

\----

 

Jensen wants to say it’s the most bizarre moment of his life, but a few days ago a ghost gave him toilet paper and asked for Pabst in return. His bar has gotten ridiculously high since they moved to Cedar Hill.

Chris and Aldis have positioned themselves on the couch beside Jensen, Aldis adopting the look of a disapproving father studying his daughter’s prom date and Chris still handling the sledgehammer like Jared is a physical person that can be hurt.

Is Jared physical? Jensen’s touched him. Jensen hit him.

“I knew I didn’t punch like a sissy.”

Chris is amused, Aldis looks concerned like Jensen is just a hair’s breadth from snapping, but Jared blushes a little and casts his eyes down. It’s the blush that puts Jensen back into an existential crisis.

“Well, the good thing about being dead is you never stub your toe anymore. Or get bruised from punches. Not that I get punched a lot, but you know if I did.”

Jared’s rambling, big hands moving to express points he’s not making, and Jensen wonders again at how lifelike he is. For a ghost.

“And you were playing at being a living neighbor why?” Chris doesn’t seem to be taken in by Jared’s puppy dog charm.

“I. Ok, you gotta understand, it’s not like I can go around town visiting people. I’m stuck here. I’ve been stuck here since 1923 and it gets…lonely? The other ghosts are great but they forget sometimes that they’re dead and then they get weird. And they can’t really have engaging conversations like that. They can only talk about what we’re doing here, or how they died, or what they’re missing. Which is kinda depressing. I mean really depressing. And it’s been ninety-one years of that. So when new living people show up I kind of like to make friends because they can, you know, be around. As themselves. All the time.”

Aldis’s face fell, and Jensen felt the same as his friend. How terrible would it be to be the only logical and sentient person in a house for almost a hundred years? To have to wander around with people who were your friends one moment and rambling specters the next? Jensen thought of the difference between the ghost that might have been Jeffrey Dean Morgan’s demeanor when he saved Jensen from falling and when he’d come at Jensen in the living room.

“But you told Jen you were alive.” Chris doesn’t seem to be buying into it, but then again Chris is wearing his inscrutable face, and when he’s got that on it’s next to impossible to know what he’s thinking or what he’s backing before he just outright says it.

Aldis elbows Chris sharply and then turns back to Jared.

“So you didn’t want to hurt Jensen you wanted a friend.”

Jared nods eagerly, puppy dog expression in full force, and Aldis lets out a little noise that he recognizes a second too late to save him from Chris’s mocking smile.

“Shut up.”

“Didn’t say nothing.”

“Anything. Use proper English, you know how. My Nana would smack you.”

“Your Nana always smacks me Aldis.”

“Well she’d smack you double.”

Chris rolls his eyes and all attention focuses back on Jared.

“How much trouble is Jensen in? With these other ghosts?”

Jared looks perplexed for a second before his eyes widen and his whole body is involved in his shaking head.

“None. None at all. None of us want to hurt anybody. Jensen is totally safe here.”

“The body count of this place says something a little bit different Casper. The body count suggests-“

“Hey.” All of them stop at the same time, Jared falling still, Aldis ending his glare at Chris, and Chris’s words dying in the air as the group turns to look at him. “I’m right here. You guys know that right? Jensen is an adult that can ask questions about his own safety and determine how he feels about things on his own. So thanks guys, but I got this.”

Chris raises an eyebrow, but it’s Aldis that speaks. “Want us to leave the room Jensen? We can wait in the kitchen.”

Jensen nods, sees how little Chris likes it, and sticks to his guns. He is an adult, a fully functioning one no matter what anyone says, and he can handle this. He can handle his new friend/supposed neighbor actually being one of the dead residents of his house.

His friends file out of the room, and it’s just the two of them.

“Jensen I am really, really sorry I-“

“How’d you die?”

Jared swallows once, what is he swallowing, and begins to wring his hands a little. His long and graceful fingers rasp over each other, skin touching skin, and Jensen marvels at the science of it. It’s so far beyond his understanding it may as well be Quantum Physics.

“My wife. My wife went mad. It was… I don’t know for certain what it was. We had an understanding you see. In my time two men couldn’t be with each other, but no one looked sideways at a married man who threw parties. Sandy liked her life, and I liked mine, and we were the best of friends. And then one day she began to ask questions, to suggest she wanted something else, and it made no sense. She was the one who proposed the deal after all. Next thing I know I’m in my studio and she’s screaming at me. Then she struck me, and the next thing I knew I was in my studio again, but the light was different, and Jeff was waiting for me.”

“Jeff? Jeffrey Dean Morgan? The ghost you only thought you could identify when he rushed me?”

Jared takes on that hangdog look again and starts to glance around the room like inspiration will arrive from some corner. And Jensen focuses on that anger and not the odd thrill he gets from the knowledge that Jared’s marriage was a sham. That Jared likes men.

“He’s the oldest of us. He’s a really great guy Jensen. When he’s in his right mind he’s super nice and really funny. You’ll like him. I promise.”

“I’ll like him. You’re making a lot of assumptions here Jared. You’re assuming I’m going to stay. You’re assuming that I want to make friends with ghosts instead of doing the sensible thing and calling a priest to evict all your asses out of this house.”

“Won’t work.”

“What?”

“A priest. It won’t work. I’ve seen four of them, seven preachers, ten psychics, and a ghost-hunting team. None of them were able to send us away.”

“What even-that’s the thing you think you need to focus on?”

Jared bites his lip for a second before holding out his hands in a pleading gesture.

“Jensen, I’m not here on vacation. I didn’t choose to stay in this house. None of us did. We’re stuck here, and believe me we’ve tried to leave. There was no tunnel of light, no choir of angels, and no dark corridor with sulfur smells and flames licking the walls. At this point I don’t think we’d care which we saw as long as it was a door out. But nothing has ever come, and everybody that dies on this property ends up right here, stuck with the rest of us. We’ve tried to make the best of it. We’re friends, almost family, and we stick together. We don’t want to hurt people. We don’t anyone to end up stuck like the rest of us. You understand? There’s no bitterness here. When they’re not confused the rest of the ghosts have reached a dejected acceptance. And we work really hard to keep the new residents alive. To run off anybody with kids or just anybody who will listen.”

It may sound petulant, but Jensen finds it both true and relevant.

“You didn’t try very hard to get rid of me.”

Something flashes in Jared’s face, something Jensen is neither capable of identifying nor terribly interested in exploring at this moment. Right now he wants to focus on any possible explanation that will make him not hate Jared as much as he’s pretty sure he should.

“I’m sorry. I can only say it so much. I’m sorry, and I mean it, but I can’t take back the decisions I made now.”

Jensen rubs the back of his neck, not entirely sure what he should do with this, and then he hears a small voice perk up from the hallway.

“It’s not his fault. Shithead.”

“Sierra. Language.” Jared looks horrified, and Jensen turns to see the little blonde girl that scared him into almost falling down the stairs. Her face is no longer open and sweet. She looks suspicious, angry, and all of that emotion is focused on Jensen.

The absurdity of it hits him in just as muted a manner as the rest of the situation has.

“No. No Jay, no. This is ridiculous. You don’t have to stand here listening to him lecture you. Screw him. Let the badness get him. Then he’ll see how much he owes you already.”

“Sierra we’ve talked about this before. We’re helpful ghosts.”

The little girl scoffs even as Jensen wonders if he should give up on fully following the conversation. Maybe he should go into the kitchen, ask Chris and Aldis to give him a ride to their house, and just stay there until Matt joins him or lets the house go into foreclosure out of spite.

“Being helpful never got us to Heaven, Jared. Being helpful’s only gotten us more ghosts to be helpful with.”

Jared winces, eyes suddenly sad, and Jensen wants to reach out and touch him. He doesn’t though, because he’s still not sure even after all the times they’ve touched before that Jared will be solid.

“Sierra we’ll talk about this later, ok? For right now it’s just me and Jensen talking about-“

“Jensen and I.” And with that the little girl ghost disappears haughtily and leaves just them in the room.

He misses her instantly when Jared turns back to him.

“That was Sierra. She’s a good kid just…spirited.”

It’s wildly inappropriate, downright fucking rude, but Jensen laughs hysterically. He sees the moment Jared realizes the accidental pun and joins him, and that’s how Chris and Aldis find them when they come back.

\----

 

So now Jensen lives in a house full of ghosts, and is friends with one, and has to figure out what that means.

He decides it’s best to make these sorts of life-altering choices with alcohol, so he’s almost done with his sixth beer when Jared suggests the plan.

“Let me introduce you. Not everybody is with it, but there’s a bunch of really awesome people here. You’ll like them. What do you say?”

Jensen stares at his mostly empty bottle and then makes his decision. “Yeah. Yeah that sounds good.”

Chris is staring bleary eyed from a few feet away, back propped up against the wall like Jensen’s and legs stretched out over the smooth restored floor of the ballroom. Aldis, always a lightweight, is passed out on Chris’s legs and snoring softly.

“Ok. Ok, hold on.” Jared stares very intensely into the depths of the ballroom, and Jensen waits for a drop in temperature or a wave of fog to roll into the room.

Nothing happens.

“You got bars on your ghost phone?” Chris cracks himself up, slapping his thigh and earning an angry grumble from Aldis.

Jared tilts his head with both eyebrows raised, and Jensen realizes how badly Chris’s joke has missed its mark. The recognition crosses Chris’s face, and then his old friend shrugs and leans back fully into the wall.

“’S nothing man. Never mind.”

A brief pause, and then Jared shrugs his shoulders and calls out like he’s trying to get the attention of friends across the bar.

“Hey guys! Come on out! It’s time!”

And sure enough, rather suddenly, there’s a group of people standing in front of them in the room. Jensen takes them in one by one. Sierra stands between the woman in the suit and Jeffrey Dean Morgan. Chad is on the end of the line, a big grin on his face and his hands smoothing his mullet back. There’s a dashing looking African-American man with his arm around a slender, gorgeous blonde.

Samantha stands towards the back of the group, hands clasped together and a light blush on her face, and there’s another ghost Jensen doesn’t know standing next to her in much more modern clothes with her arm around Samantha and a fierce look on her face.

Jared stands easily and crosses the room so he’s standing by the group, a smile on his face and his whole body gesturing along with his hands. Jensen doesn’t miss the way that Jared touches each ghost, the ease with which he interacts with them, or that all of them are happy to see him and be introduced.

It’s odd, but there’s a sharp flare of something in his gut at the sight of Jared acting the same way he does with Jensen with everyone else. That smile, the intense focus, that makes Jensen feel special and noticed when Jared and he are alone is apparently Jared’s default position.

He’s kind of like a cult leader.

Jared starts at the end with Chad, touches his shoulder and then moves through the line rattling off names.

“This is Adrianne and her husband Charles Whitfield, Samantha you’ve met but this is best friend Lauren Cohan. Sierra and Jeff you know, but I think you just met Samantha Ferris. We call her Sam to avoid confusion. She said she prefers it anyway. Jim and D.J. aren’t feeling too good today, so they’re not here, and there’s a couple others that are in and out more than some of us. But this is the core group. Everybody, this is Jensen, and his best friends Chris and Aldis.”

Chris doffs an imaginary hat and Aldis lets out a loud snore. Jensen tries to modulate the smile on his face as he manages a tiny wave.

The group responds in kind, some more friendly than others, and he wonders at the disparity in ages of clothing. History is standing in his ballroom right now. Being introduced to him by his hundred year old ghost friend.

Jensen takes a deep breath, because he imagines he’s supposed to say something here, and whatever it is will set the tone. He’s never really been much for public speaking. A little too detail-oriented and introverted to enjoy anything that didn’t allow him to plan and control the reactions to that plan.

And now he’s going to do this kind of buzzed. Mostly sober.

Drunk. He’s greeting his dead housemates drunk.

“Howdy.”

Worst. Speech. Ever.

But it seems to go over well. That or Jensen has gotten entirely too used to being laughed at by ghosts.

\----

Matt doesn’t mention the fact that Jensen is drunk. The ghosts have gone back into hiding, and his boyfriend is comfortable with just chattering about his day a bit before giving Jensen one slightly disappointed look and then going to sleep.

Jensen lies awake, lost in a haze of beer and what might be mild shock, but he’s ok with it. Or he thinks he is. As far as he can tell Jared is some sort of ringleader, or house mother, and that means he’s gotten on the good side of the head ghost.

That has to be good right?

He sleeps fitfully, and in the morning he has a lingering headache and a bleariness he can’t shake. Matt heads out before he even bothers to roll out of bed and drag himself to a long, hot shower.

Jensen should be sanding one of the many rooms that need repainting, but Jensen can’t imagine how the rough rasp of the paper against the wall will make this sick feeling lingering in him worse. Instead he ends up in the graveyard, standing on the border again and staring at the stone memorials of the ghosts he met the night before.

There’s no sound to warn him, but Jensen doesn’t jump or panic when the hand lands on his shoulder, and he turns to see Jared standing beside him in the trees looking into the little cemetery.

“Why’d they all get buried here? Didn’t they have family that wanted to claim them?”

Jared’s head tilts as he considers the stones, and then he smiles sadly. Jensen finds that he doesn’t much care for that smile.

“Some of them didn’t. Some of them did, but…their loved ones knew that they were here. Forever. People react differently to death.”

Jensen nods at that. Knows the feeling all too well.

“Do you have a stone anywhere?”

“I might? My momma might have put one up when I never showed up. I dunno Jensen. I like to think they just had a little get together, talked about how much they loved me, and then went on with having good lives. It hurts too much to imagine anything else.”

He sits down heavily in the needles and dirt, and Jared takes a seat next to him.

“Do you resent her? For killing you?”

“Sandy?” Jared squints at the cemetery like he’s trying to see something far off, and then his head shakes but his body doesn’t get involved in the gesture this time. “Nah. Why would I? It wasn’t her. For what little time she was still in the house she felt just awful ‘bout it. She was a victim as much as I was. One of the other residents looked up her history for me and told me about the sanitarium. She died there. Holding a grudge would be a waste after knowing how much she paid for something she didn’t want.”

Jensen bites his lip, leans back on his hands and feels the little beams of sunlight that break through the trees and sit on his face.

“Are all dead people like that? Too laid back to blame their killers?”

Out of the corner of his eyes Jensen can see that Jared is giving him an odd look.

“No. Not all of us. But a fair amount. Death is a real eye-opener about how much energy gets wasted on hate. Why do you ask?”

“Curiosity.”

Jared makes a little noise and then gets up and walks into the graveyard. He hunkers down near the marker that Chris said belonged to Jeff and stares at it for a bit before brushing his fingers over the stone.

“If I had it to do all over again? I’d focus a little more on living. I spent so much time locked up in my studio trying to make something of a life I didn’t totally live. I mean I had fun, don’t get me wrong, but after close to a hundred years in that house I wish I’d spent more time outside it. You know?”

Jensen licks his lips, because he can tell what Jared is getting at, but he doesn’t want to get into it. Not here. The graveyard, the house, all of it are too much like his life. A quicksand pit of memory and grief that it is all too easy to sink into and never get out of. He tries to find a topic change and one hits him fast and hard.

“You’re good at painting, but are you any good at gardening?”

For a moment he thinks that Jared won’t let him have the out, but Jared has been nothing but gracious since they met.

“Nope. But Samantha sure is, and she’s taught me far more complex stuff than that.”

Jensen wonders if that means that Jared will disappear and reappear, but apparently he has something else in mind entirely. He pulls Jensen up without preamble or warning, and suddenly Jensen is being led back out of the copse of trees and into the yard proper. They end up in the little shed full of yard tools, and when Jared calls out Samantha, Lauren, Jeff, and Chad appear.

And that’s how Jensen Ackles, formerly a fully-fledged member of the skeptic team, finds himself gardening with a family of ghosts.

Samantha immediately rejects his plans and leads him through a series of discussions on local plants and proper planting times. She tells him if he leaves her paper and pen she can sketch out a proper plan, but in the meantime he needs a garden. When Jensen gives her an unsure look Samantha waves off his doubts and insists that he’ll love the fresh vegetables and herbs, and that it will change the outlook of the yard entirely.

They spend the next few hours plotting out size and location, breaking ground, and then fertilizing. The ghosts talk a lot, stories that they’re excited to have a fresh audience for, and Jensen listens enraptured as he digs into the dry clay soil.

When they’re done the sun is starting to wane and Jensen is dirty, covered in sweat and fertilizer, and happier than he’s been in a long time. He’s the good kind of exhausted, the kind he used to get after a particularly fulfilling workday, and he’s happy to head into the kitchen and pour a big glass of tea as he flexes his hands and contemplates a shower. The other ghosts disappear, but Jared sticks around to drink tea with him.

Jensen is just about to ask where the tea goes when the swinging door pushes open and Matt is standing in the kitchen with his tie loosened and surprise on his face.

“Hey Matt. Our neighbor came by to help with the lawn maintenance.”

Matt frowns and then crosses the room, holding out one hand to Jared and then hesitating when he sees how dirty the return hand is.

“Matt Cohen. And you are?”

Jensen barely manages to hide his surprise behind his glass, and Jared shoots him another apologetic look for yet another lie before shaking Matt’s hand and putting on his most gracious and pleasant smile.

“Jared Padalecki. Pleasure to meet you. Jensen’s said a lot of good things.”

Matt frowns at that too, takes his hand back and wipes it dramatically on a kitchen towel before looking sideways at Jensen.

“Has he? Well then I’m at another disadvantage. Which house do you live in Mr. Padalecki?”

Jared shifts and forces a smile.

“Two down on the left. And I should probably get back to it. Already been away for too long.”

Matt nods thoughtfully, but his eyes are already fixed on Jensen.

“Guess you should.”

Jared waves once at both of them, the air too awkward for anything else, and then heads through the swinging door and back to wherever he goes when he’s not visible to Jensen.

He should probably ask about that. It occurs to him that he needs to be more careful when he gets naked in this house. That line of thought is brutally interrupted by Matt’s next question.

“Are you fucking him?”

Jensen finds himself frozen in place, eyes focused somewhere in between Matt’s face twisted with a rage Jensen doesn’t recognize and the door that Jared just exited through. Because he doesn’t know who’s listening to this.

“What?”

Matt, never physically confrontational before this moment and typically one of the most laid-back guys Jensen has ever known despite his profession, steps directly into Jensen’s space. Close enough to hit, and with clenched fists.

Jensen feels a sudden and complete disconnect with reality, more intense than the one he received when he realized his house was full of ghosts. Friendly ghosts who exist as some sort of dead family with his new friend as their housemother.

“Are. You. Fucking. Him?”

“Matt, I need you to take two steps back and a deep breath. Before this becomes a situation we can’t take back.”

“Answer the question you miserable, crippled asshole!”

Jensen sucks in a breath, adrenaline rushing as Matt’s hand rises towards him, and then Matt is flying backwards as doors crash open and closed and the glass-fronted cabinets crack and shatter around them.

It’s chaos in the kitchen, everything flying and breaking, and Matt is pressed against the wall on the opposite side of the room with his mouth hanging open and his eyes fixed on Jensen in fear and shock. Jensen, for his part, is just as surprised.

When it ends, one broken cabinet door slamming a last time before ripping off of its hinges, Jensen stands in the destruction unsure of what he should do next. Matt’s face is bleeding, shards of glass having scraped him, but Jensen is untouched.

They stare at each other, silent, and then Jensen crunches his way across the glass to grab Matt before his suddenly ghostly pale boyfriend hits the floor. Silent still they stand in the room with their arms around each other, both shaking, and while Jensen knows that Matt is scared he’s not sure what he is anymore.

 

\---

 

Jensen isn’t sure what he should do. Matt’s sitting across from him, face shiny with antibiotic ointment and eyes wide and edged in white. They haven’t spoken since Jensen helped Matt out of the kitchen, but now they’re in some weird in between place where it’s not time to talk about it, but they need to talk about it.

He should tell Matt. He should explain the ghosts, how he’s sort of made friends with them and their leader, and how they really don’t mean any harm. Whichever one did whatever it was that just happened was probably just trying to protect Jensen, but even explaining that is beyond his abilities because the idea of needing to be protected from Matt is so foreign and insane that it has no words attached to it.

“Jensen.”

It takes everything in him to not jerk to attention. To stay soothing and calm. His hands are clenched together in his lap as he speaks to avoid visible shaking.

“Yes, Matt?”

“Was that. Did the. What just.” Matt’s mouth keeps giving up, dissolving into something mushy and unsure, and his hands rub at his hair before he takes a deep breath. “Ghosts?”

“Yeah. I think so. I think ghosts.”

Matt licks his lips and there’s no moisture left behind. Jensen reaches out and links fingers with him, makes a connection in the hopes that there will be some comfort offered. Matt takes it.

“You were right.”

“Yeah. I was right.”

 

\----

 

It’s been two days since the explosion in the kitchen. Matt has apparently decided to handle it by not handling it. Anytime Jensen tries to bring up the subject his boyfriend shuts down. They don’t discuss leaving, they don’t talk about any of the things that couples in the movies talk about.

Matt works long days, comes home to hover and stare around the house on high alert, and the stress of not sleeping is obvious on his face. Jensen wants to help him, but they’ve lost the common language they once shared. They eat late dinners silently, eyes fixed on their plates, and Matt refuses to go closer to the kitchen then the end of the grand dining table.

Worse, Jensen can’t get a hold of Jared. He can’t seem to reach any of the ghosts, and he’s not sure what to do about that. He doesn’t know which one caused the ruckus, and he doesn’t know how to assure them that whatever it looked like that night Matt is not that guy. He’s still not even sure what happened between them. Matt has never been like that.

A part of him keeps repeating that they’re not dangerous, that he knows they’re not dangerous, but another part is afraid for Matt.

So when the box arrives next day from Amazon Jensen makes sure that Matt is nowhere around before taking the previously sealed off door up into Jared’s old studio. He realizes upon entering that with the whirlwind of events he never asked Jared what should be done with his corpse. It sends shivers of cold through him despite the warmth of the room, and Jensen considers moving to the ballroom before settling down awkwardly on the floor.

The cardboard parts easily, and Jensen wonders how many of the stereotypical responses he once mocked that he’ll take part in after this. He’s become a silver screen idiot, but there’s desperation thrumming under his skin to reach Jared and apologize, to clarify, and to know. Somehow he’s become dependent on his relationship, and that’s probably as scary as using a Ouija board in a heavily haunted house a few feet away from a corpse.

With the planchette firmly in place Jensen settles his fingers on the edge of the thin plastic and then tries to clear his mind of outside thoughts and focus only on Jared. He doesn’t want just anybody.

“Jared Padalecki, I summon you.”

Dust motes dance around him, the air is thick and heavy, and Jensen thinks he’s got to be the biggest idiot in the planet.

“Jared Padalecki, if you’re here with me will you speak?”

Silence continues to reign in the room, and Jensen finds himself looking at the portrait Jared was working on again. He said that he had an open marriage. Jensen wonders if the model got naked simply for the sake of art, or for something else. If Jared’s wife snapped specifically because of that painting, of the jealousy inherent in seeing the person you were with lovingly recreate the image of another. Jared said that she never minded before they moved here, and again clear as day the image of Matt with his usually friendly face twisted in rage takes over.

A hand lands on Jensen’s shoulder and he jumps about a foot.

“You know that you aren’t exactly a medium right?”

Charles’ grin is open, caring, and Jensen wants to trust it but he still doesn’t know who destroyed his kitchen or where Jared is. Why his friend is refusing to see him.

“I. Charles I’m trying to reach Jared.”

The ghost settles down across from Jensen, closer to the corpse than Jensen was willing to get, and rests his hands on his thighs.

“Are you now? I couldn’t tell from the antiquated language and the overly dramatic tone.”

Jensen feels his face puckering and tries to smooth it out, but Charles is already laughing.

“I’m glad you think this is funny, but it’s really important that I-“

“Why?”

For half a beat Jensen is locked in place simply staring at Charles. Why what? Why does he want to contact Jared? Why is it important? Why is he still here when he could probably push Matt with this newfound discovery regarding the state of their house to move somewhere where the worst neighbors they have are the ones next door with the yapping dog instead of the dead people wandering the halls of their very home?

“Because I need to apologize to him.” Jensen settles for the path of least resistance. The thing that requires the least explanation.

Or he thinks he does, but by the cocking of Charles’ head it appears he didn’t succeed.

“Apologize? Why are you apologizing?”

Jensen gestures in a futile hope that it will continue all of his thoughts, and when it’s obvious he hasn’t become a master of Mime he clears his throat.

“Because he had to see something ugly between Matt and I that wasn’t his problem, because he got treated badly, and because I think he feels guilty about what happened in the kitchen.”

“How do you know that was his fault?”

“I don’t, but the lack of contact implies pretty heavily that he has some guilt there.”

“Maybe he just doesn’t want to see you.”

It stings, more than Jensen thought it would, more than he was prepared for, and he takes a shaky breath before pushing himself more upright.

“Well I think I deserve to hear that from him.”

Charles grins at that, teeth sparkling white, and then he stands and shrugs.

“You’ve got spunk kid, I’ll give you that. But what Jared does or doesn’t do is completely up to him. He’s a free spirit. So to speak.”

And with that Charles is gone.

\---

 

Jensen is frustrated, and he finds himself scraping another bedroom to work off the frenetic energy he can’t seem to shake. Chris thinks he should get a real medium if talking to Jared is that important, but Aldis is oddly silent on the subject. Matt’s less and less available as he seems to sink completely into his work and stays away from the house as much as possible.

He’s only felt this alone once before, and that’s not a time he cares to think about too much. So Jensen keeps his hands busy and his brain locked in the job of renovating the house he’s no longer sure he can stay in.

The first cut feels like a small blow, and for a second Jensen honestly thinks he knocked into something. Except he’s standing in an empty room against a wall with his sander and there’s nothing to bump into even if he was moving in such a way that would…

It’s the second cut that gets him moving, his leg already bleeding through the beat-up jeans he’s been working in and the pain suddenly burning through him with no warning. Jensen feels the temperature of the room drop rapidly, and he wonders if maybe all those times he mocked himself about being the idiot in the horror movie are now coming back to haunt him.

A hysterical laugh bursts through his mouth at the internal wording even as the door slams shut in front of him and Jensen is cut off from escape. He’s on the second floor, and the drop from the window is straight down.

When Jensen turns he sees his box cutter floating in the air, glinting with his own blood, and he takes a deep breath before trying to figure out how to combat an invisible enemy with a very sharp knife.

This is where his time would have been better served taking self-defense classes instead of getting wasted at bar trivia nights.

He jerks left when the box cutter comes at him, and then it feints and he buys it and gets a slash to his arm for his trouble. Jensen is fairly certain he’s going to die in here, just like this, at the hands of someone he was probably introduced to. Someone close to Jared.

Jared. He lied. He told Jensen death brought on a certain level of Zen and Jensen had believed him. Jensen had bought into the mystic ghost bullshit. Now he’s going to pay for it. To pay for staying. To pay for living when it should have been that kid. That fucking kid. He remembers wet roads, the squeal of tires, and a hand clutching at his shirt as a weak voice cried for its mother.

“STOP!”

The room is suddenly warm, the box cutter clatters to the wood floor, and Jensen is standing with his bleeding arm covering his face and hiding him from whatever has saved his life. Cool hands take his arm, lower it, and then Jensen is looking into the bright blue of Christian’s eyes. He can see Aldis standing behind Chris, and beyond that Jared whose mouth is tight and face dark.

He loses consciousness.


	5. Chapter 5

Drained my blood at the mortuary  
No more worry  
Ice water in my veins  
Took my bones to the cemetery  
Where they still remain

 

When Jensen wakes up Adrianne is bandaging his leg. They’ve taken his pants off, and Jensen feels a slight sense of shame at the idea of being undressed in front of this strange woman.

This strange, dead woman.

Her smile is warm, voice soft, and her hands are cool but gentle.

“It’s ok. I was a nurse when I was alive. It’s gonna be ok Jensen.”

Jared is nowhere to be seen, but Aldis and Chris are hovering close with twin looks of concern and anger. Jensen wonders if they’ll be the head of the moving committee now, or if Matt will take that role when he sees what’s happened.

He wonders if he’ll be able to argue.

“I think you’re in a bit of shock honey, but it’s gonna be ok. They’re all too shallow for stitches.”

“Where’s Jared?”

Adrianne doesn’t look up from what she’s doing, her focus steady as she continues to wrap his leg tightly.

“Trying to figure out what happened I think. Don’t you worry about that. Let’s just get you better.”

“Was it a ghost like Jared?” Chris sounds put together, calm, and Jensen marvels yet again at how tightly controlled his friend can be when it’s necessary.

He jerks out of Adrianne’s grip, heart racing, when a new voice pipes up.

“A ghost like whom?”

It’s Matt, eyes wide and white again, fists clenched at his sides, and Jensen wonders if Matt could have walked in on anything worse.

“Matt. You need to calm down. Tensions are already pretty-“

His boyfriend cuts Chris off, face going stormy and rage-filled like the day in the kitchen.

“You need to shut the fuck up and mind your own business for once. Jensen? A ghost like Jared? The neighbor you’re always with?”

Jensen finds himself on the defensive in seconds, unwilling to back down and unable to be calm. He’s usually unwilling to be emotional in front of others, tightly controlled when it comes to making his private life pubic, and despite what he’s been willing to share with his friends he’s not gotten into how deeply and fundamentally damaged his relationship with Matt has become.

All these considerations go by the wayside as his blood boils.

“Always with? How the fuck would you know who I’m always with? You’re never here. You don’t want to be. You find out our house is fucking haunted and your response is to up your hours at the firm and disappear on me. You don’t want to deal with it, you don’t want to deal with me, and goddamn Matt I don’t want you to.”

Matt’s mouth trembles and then firms.

“After everything I’ve sacrificed for you this is what I get? You take off the second someone else shows up? Someone dead Jensen? A fucking dead man beat me out for your affections?”

Just like that it all flies away. The rage leaves him and Jensen has nothing left but a hollow fear that he’s about to make a mistake and won’t be able to take it back. Adrianne’s hand settles onto his knee, and Jensen takes a deep breath before meeting Matt’s eyes.

“I can never thank you enough for what you did for me. For how you’ve been there for me. But let’s face it Matt, we aren’t the same people anymore. We don’t love each other that way anymore. You can’t look at me without seeing everything you’ve been forced to do, and I can’t look at you without seeing everything I went through. We’re friends at best, patient and care provider at worst. You didn’t sign up for this. I don’t blame you. But staying with me out of guilt and nostalgia isn’t doing either of us any favors.”

Matt slumps back against the wall, one hand tugging at his already askew tie and the other pressing against the wall.

“Jensen. Jensen I. I’m sorry.”

It’s terrible. It’s welcome. When Matt agreed to be primary caregiver after the accident they’d been warned about the strain it could put on the relationship, they’d been given all the options, and they’d chosen this path. It ended here. He’d thought there would be bitterness or anger. Instead Jensen is relieved to have the burden of pretending, of clinging to nostalgia and complacency, lifted from his shoulders.

For the first time since the accident he is willing to let go of the familiar.

“It’s not your fault. It’s nobody’s fault Matt. It’s fine.”

Matt’s face scrunches up for a second before settling into determination.

“Alright, but Jensen you’re getting out of this house. Even if you don’t come with me. You can go with Chris and Aldis, or we’ll set you up with something alone.”

“I’m staying.”

Chris is already shaking his head, Aldis’s mouth is hanging open, and Adrianne’s hand squeezes his leg tightly.

“Then I’ll stay with you. I’ll sleep in another room.”

Jensen thinks of the rage in Matt’s face, of the corpse in the upstairs studio and how Jared never once blamed his wife for what happened. He thinks of the box cutter flying at him.

“No. This I have to do alone. You have to leave Matt.”

The face is so well known, and for a moment Jensen feels the pang he thought he would at ending the relationship. He knows Matt. Has known him for so long and shared so much with him. This is the young man he met in the library. This is the face he fell in love with so many years ago.

Even if he’d known then where they’d end. How they’d drift apart and lose each other, he’d do it all over again.

It’s a fight to get them all to go, and he has to promise to contact them regularly, but Jensen can’t leave. Not yet.

He has a ghost to talk to.

 

\----

 

When the house is empty of everyone but him and the ghosts Jensen turns to Adrianne. She’s repacking his first aid kit, her face solemn and serious, and he takes a deep breath before he finds how he wants to phrase it.

“Where’s Jared?”

Adrianne closes the lid and then temples her fingers under her chin.

“Hiding like a coward.”

It’s the most honest and refreshing thing anyone has said to him in quite some time. It makes Jensen angry all over again.

“What the hell is he hiding from?”

“He feels guilty that you got hurt and is sure you’re going to leave. So instead of facing you and saying that he’s going to hide out and pretend it doesn’t matter until you go.”

“Well I’m not leaving.”

“Then he’ll be hiding for a while.”

She moves the kit out of the way before leaning over the counter.

“You realize that he can outlast you right? Unless you plan on dying here.”

Jensen has no good answer for that, no witty retort, so he watches Adrianne fade out of existence right in front of him.

 

\---

The liquor is buried in the back of a cabinet, and Jensen lifts it out carefully and takes it to the bedroom with the hidden door. He should put furniture in here. He should rebuild the wall over the door.

He should bury Jared’s remains.

Instead he takes a position on the floor and starts to drink right from the bottle. He’s not driving anywhere. The thought brings out a bitter laugh, and the burn of the alcohol mixes perfectly with the level of rage he’s got burning just under his skin.

He stays and Jared disappears. He took the chance of throwing away everything he knew on a dead man that’s never shown anything but the same kind of doofy universal goodness he seems to give everyone around him.

About halfway to alcohol poisoning Jensen looks up to see Jared crouched in front of him, a look of concern on his stupid, dead, beautiful face.

“Jensen. Jensen can you give me the bottle?”

“You’re not my fucking mother.”

For a second Jensen thinks that’s he’s imagining this, because god that was a stupid thing to say and it isn’t even what he wanted to communicate and maybe the universe is being kind for once and he’s dreaming all the dumb shit that could come out of his mouth before Jared really does give up and appear.

“No. I am definitely not your mother. But you’ve had a lot of it and I’ve seen your medicine cabinet.”

“Fucking snoop.”

Jared snatches the bottle at that and then sinks onto the floor next to Jensen. They sit silently for a bit, thighs close enough to touch but not touching, and Jensen wonders if that’s his fault or Jared’s. If this sudden distance is only imagined, or if drunk and stripped of all his safety nets Jensen is finally realizing how much distance lies between himself and Jared.

“You need to catch up with Matt. I bet if you left right now he would-“

“Fuck you.”

“You’re a pretty angry drunk Jensen.”

And that is all he needs. All he requires to focus and pin down the source of his rage and despair.

“You’re a liar.”

Jared’s face twists in pain and shock, and then he pulls up a little and nods.

“I know. I’m sorry. I knew about the ghosts and I knew I was dead and I led you to believe-“

“You claimed death was peaceful. You told me all that bullshit about gaining enlightenment and distance and then it turns out death is just as shitty as life. That you’re just as angry and scared as I am. That’s what’s waiting for us. That’s what that kid-“

He cuts off at the last second, planting his conversational heels in the dirt so hard he can feel the grooves it digs, but it’s too late. He’s opened the door and Jared’s seen inside.

A big hand settles on his shoulder and then Jared is in his space, cool and steady.

“What kid?”

Jensen swallows, alcohol burning a path back up his throat and reminding him that he’s never had the best tolerance levels and now he’s seriously passed what little he did have.

“It’s nothing. Fucking nosy.”

“Yes I am. What kid Jensen?”

The room is dark, stupidly dark, because they don’t pay to put street lights out in the country. No all you have out there is the moon and stars, and headlights if you remember to put them on.

“Leave me alone.”

“Not a chance.”

But if you don’t. If you don’t remember to put them on then you have to take it on faith that everyone else on the road can make out the dim shape of your car hurtling through the darkness. And faith, Jensen learned that night, is something that teenagers have in abundance and that adults lose all too quickly.

“You’re an asshole. You know that right? An asshole. You sell me all this bullshit about happy afterlife families and flash that fucking smile of yours and next thing I know I’m dumping my boyfriend for you and staying in this goddamn horror movie.”

“I did do that.” Jared is soothing, understanding, and Jensen finds he hates that even more. “Is the kid attached to your car accident?”

His eyes narrow and he considers the possibility of getting up and wobbling his way out.

“How do you know about that?”

“I’m a snoop and there are a lot of papers all over the place. The kid hit you. And then he died right?”

“No, actually, he didn’t. He lived for an hour.”

Jensen finds himself pulled in tight, solid and stable arms wrapped around him and Jared’s face pressed against his hair as he responds.

“An hour? The report I read said he was dead when they got to you.”

“Yeah.” His voice is rough, and that’s what tips Jensen to the fact that he’s crying. When did he start crying? “It took them an hour and a half to get there. Mix of problems.”

Jared’s hands move up and down his back, rubbing and squeezing, and Jensen relaxes into it.

“Was he conscious?”

“Yeah. Kept. He kept apologizing and asking for his mommy. They said it was a miracle he survived coming through the windshield.”

“And he was pinned there in your car with you all that time dying?”

“Yes.”

Jared makes a little noise, and the arms around Jensen tighten a bit.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry Jensen. That’s so terrible.”

“It was so stupid. He was just having fun. He drank too much to remember to turn the goddamn lights on and just went out. Fucking, all they needed was daytime running lights. I would have seen him coming if he had them. I would have stopped and let him go. But I was tired, and I wasn’t looking for oncoming traffic and then-“

He cuts himself off at the last second. Jensen has never told a living soul that the boy that hit him was alive and conscious in the car with him. It was hard enough to describe to the court stenographers being pinned in the heap of metal that used to be his car with the body sprawled out over him.

“That wasn’t your fault.”

“People keep saying that but he was just a kid. He should have had a more responsible driver out there to give him a break. He shouldn’t have run into anyone in the first place. It was just a stupid mistake and he died for it. He died horribly. Is that a plan? Is that fucking destiny? And then what? I wanted to believe there was something- something better than this but what is there? Is he stuck out on that road looking at the place he suffered and died? Growing more bitter with every day? Is that what waits for us?”

Jared makes a little noise and continues to pet Jensen, hands steady and sure, and Jensen wants it. He wants the comfort, he wants the closeness, and damn if he doesn’t want Jared.

“This is not a normal afterlife.”

“What?”

“This is not a normal afterlife and what happened wasn’t an angry ghost. It’s the house.”

Jensen swallows thickly, and then pulls back just enough to really take Jared in.

“What’s the house?”

“The anger, the violence, all of it. That’s the house. It trapped us here on purpose. Anyone who dies on the property stays on the property. And what happened with my wife, what we thought was starting to happen with Matt, all of that is on the house. It twists people. Makes them turn on each other and hate each other. I thought I could protect you, but I’m starting to think I- Jensen, you should go back to Matt. Or go stay with Chris and Aldis. This place isn’t the answer to the questions you have about death and staying here won’t bring you peace or closure.”

“I thought you didn’t know what made her crazy."

Jared blushes again, and Jensen wonders about the blood flow in dead things.

“I lied again.”

Jensen licks his dry lips, suddenly unsure of whether or not he should go any further. He jumped into this thing half-blind, and now he has to feel his way through to the end or turn around and run the other way.

He decides to plunge ahead.

“I- originally, ok, maybe that was the plan but it’s changed.”

“What’s changed?” Jared’s head tilts, eyes wide, and Jensen knows then and there that he’s not making a mistake. It’s not the fear or the trauma, and it’s not the all-consuming need he had to know for certain that what was waiting for them, what the kid that hit him was experiencing, was something meaningful and positive after an arbitrary life of surprises and tragedy.

“I stayed for you.”

Jared’s eyes squint for a second like the words don’t make sense, like it’s a language he doesn’t know anymore, and then they go impossibly wide as his mouth drops open.

“Jensen, I’m dead. That’s not gonna change. I am totally, completely, utterly dead and have been so for a long time. You are not. Don’t you want to live your life?”

“Yeah. Yeah I do. That’s what I’m trying to do, and I want to try it with you.”

Disbelief morphs into something else, and then Jared reaches out tentatively and takes Jensen’s hand.

“I’d like to try that.”

 

\-----

 

Jensen wakes up to a hideous hangover; terrible taste in his mouth and headache throbbing along with his overly loud pulse. Jared is sitting beside the bed with a glass of water and aspirin.

“I remember those. Nothing worse. Want us to make you breakfast?”

The thought of food turns his weak stomach over several times, but a long course of painkillers and other various pills have weakened Jensen’s stomach lining to the point that taking the aspirin without food isn’t the best of options either.

“Toast?” It’s hopeful, because he shouldn’t rely on the ghosts to be some sort of free in-house labor.

“Greasy food it is.”

Jensen ignores the new wave of queasiness in favor of weakly trying to return Jared’s smile. He follows the ghost through the house and down into the kitchen where apparently the breakfast decision was long since made. Chris is handling biscuit dough beside Samantha, whose face is set in a bright smile as she fries up bacon.

Aldis is hanging out on one of the stools, and he smiles at Jensen before speaking louder than would be necessary if they were across the house from each other.

“Jensen! My man! How are you feeling? Looking a little green!”

He needs to remember to hit Aldis once he’s sure there will be some force behind it.

Collapsing into the chair beside Aldis is the best decision he’s ever made, and he watches Chris and Samantha chat about techniques for biscuits while Aldis yammers on at Jared about something, still entirely too loud.

“Ah man we’re gonna have to play Call of Duty. You’re gonna love it. It’s-oh shit. You don’t even know what video games are do you?”

Jared’s smile is easy and understanding.

“Aldis, I’ve had fifteen families here in the last seven years and all of them had teenagers. I may be better at some of those games than you.”

The grin that splits Aldis’s face is blinding.

“We’ll see about that.”

And after the living people eat heartily they actually do. Jensen’s head and stomach have calmed down enough that the jumpy camera motions and loud explosions don’t affect him. As he watches the screen he begins to plan.

Maybe he jumped into this for the wrong reasons, or the right reasons not fully developed, but it’s time to take control. Jared’s right, his answer isn’t here. Or it isn’t yet. But if he wants to find it, and in the course of doing so become closer to Jared, then there are some things that need to change.

And every one of those things has to do with the house. When Jensen signed the closing papers he had the intention of fixing the place up, of bringing out the beauty he knew it must have once had, and now there’s just one more task that’s been added to the list.

Jensen has to purge it of the evil Jared swears it has. If he does then he’ll be safe, and the ghosts will be capable of leaving. Of course that might mean that Jared will decide to go, and if so Jensen’s burgeoning plans for his future will be radically changed, but he has to give the ghost that option. Otherwise Jared is just picking him because he has no other way.

Probably more importantly if he can successfully purge the house of evil he’ll be safe, and so will his friends when they visit and anyone who lives here in the future. Jensen is sure he wants this to be his life, but he’s not so certain about it being his death.

\---

He starts out small. He calls the local parishes until he finds a priest willing to come out and bless the house despite Jensen not being one of the flock. He’s got two days to kill until the man has time, but that’s not so bad.

The first one is spent getting to know the ghosts better at large.

Samantha is sweet, a little meek, and Lauren hangs at her side on a regular basis, and Jensen doesn’t miss the way their fingers link together sometimes, or how her face lights up when the brunette turns her full attention on her.

Charles and Adrianne are perfect together. They share looks that Jensen can’t understand, laugh at the same time, and often she finishes his sentences. If they were any cuter together Jensen would probably hate them.

Jeffrey is a little more serious, but when he smiles his entire face crinkles. Jared tells Jensen that it’s harder for Jeffrey to keep in touch with the current time, but that he does better these days then he used to.

Sam and Chad stick closer together, their timelines a bit more in sync, and Jensen wonders if they would have been willing to be so close in life. Their personalities clash on a regular basis, Sam’s professional demeanor and Chad’s hair metal vibe, but they share at least a generational tie.

He finally meets D.J. and Jim, and he’s glad for it. D.J., Jared warns him, is still new to the whole thing. Because of that he has more bad days than good, but when he is in the current time he’s a sweet and funny geek. Jim on the other hand comes off gruff, but there’s a sense of humor underneath that Jensen really appreciates. Dry, but not too dry, and Jensen immediately takes to him.

They get together in the garden again, and move into the kitchen. They end the night sitting around the dining room table, swapping stories and laughing about families that made it out of the house unscathed but scared. Jensen wonders if he should be laughing. If he should tell them what he’s planning.

But he doesn’t. Whether it’s because he’s afraid Jared and the others will be upset, or if he doesn’t want the house to get a full scope of his plan, Jensen isn’t sure. He just knows he doesn’t want to chance it.

The next day is only Jared, and Jensen learns a fair amount. Jensen clicks with him on a very basic level. It’s almost seamless really how they get along. There’s a quality to Jared that Jensen can appreciate now that he knows everything. Even dead Jared is more alive than Jensen has possibly ever been.

Jared knows everything about the house, can tell Jensen crazy tidbits about the town that wouldn’t be in the historical records, and has a million stories from his brief stint in mob era Chicago. It’s fascinating, and Jensen loves listening to him.

More than the aspect of living history though is the way Jared lights up. He’s physical, there’s no question of that, but his skin practically glows as he talks about the art scene in Chicago, the early days here in Texas, and putting his studio together when he got here.

Better than that is the fact that Jared, as Jensen quickly learns, has no hang-ups at all about casual touching. It puts Jensen at ease somehow, even though he’s never been terribly touchy, to have that reminder that despite Jared’s pulse handicap he is real and there with Jensen.

Despite the need for public secrecy, and his deal with Sandy, Jared talks warmly about his family’s acceptance of his sexual preferences and life style. He tells Jensen all about his little sister and big brother, about how close they all were to each other. Jared talks in great detail about how he grew up watching how much his parents loved each other and longing for the same sort of bond with someone else.

It’s easy to laugh with Jared, to listen to him, and then to open up to him. They don’t talk about the accident again, or Jensen’s issues stemming from it, but they do talk about his family and his business. Jensen talks about meeting Chris and Aldis, he tells Jared about the gulf that slowly opened up between him and Matt. The way their relationship shifted and morphed until it became a shadow of its former self.

Jensen tells Jared about how his own family reacted to his coming out. About his dad baking him a cake and his mom mocking the terrible icing job his dad did. He talks about his sister and brother, about the life choices they made, and how often he sees them. He basically talks about anything, and finds that all of it is rewarded with that big dimpled grin.

Without a second thought it seems they become more physical as the day progresses. What was already a fairly handsy Jared becomes a constant barrage of touching. Jensen’s shoulder, his thigh, his knee, and casual pats become hugs become hand holding. Jared is physical, and that should amaze Jensen all things considered, but it just comes the same way the emotional connectivity did. They just get along and Jensen loves it. There’s no awkwardness between them.

He’s always believed that to fully understand a person you have to know them the way you know a house. The heart of the structure, what ties it all together and makes it a solid and single unit. He knows that about Jared, and in turn Jared knows it about him.

And then, as if on some kind of timer, Jared pulls the rug out from under him again and throws Jensen’s entire scripted and romantic day off track.

“I want you to help me bury the body.”

It could be a joke in any other situation. Or a misunderstanding. But Jensen knows exactly what Jared means.

“Are you kidding?”

“No. It’s been rotting in there forever. I can touch things Jensen. The house gives me corporeal form. I want to paint again but it’s goddamn depressing to stare at the thing when I try.”

Jensen has to swallow back a thousand replies it seems before he finds the one that seems the least insulting or confusing.

“You mean you?”

Jared tilts his head, squints his eyes, and then shakes his head. It’s an entire conversation Jensen doesn’t get to hear.

“Not anymore. That’s a corpse Jensen. It deserves its respects I guess, but it’s not me. This is me.” Jared’s fingers link with Jensen’s, and he feels the cool skin solid and sure. “This is who I am. I left that behind a long time ago.”

And Jensen doesn’t have a rebuttal for that. Not a good one anyway.

“Fine. But you’re helping dig, and this is officially the worst first date in history.”

Jared’s grin is bright and overwhelming, dimples carved deep into his cheeks.

“Who says this is our first date?”

He can’t make himself touch the body, but he spreads out a sheet and Jared lowers the corpse into it carefully and wraps it. They tie the whole thing up in a gruesome bundle, and then together they carry Jared’s big body down the stairs and out the back door. Jensen wonders what his neighbors see if they’re looking at all. If he’ll have an awkward conversation with a police officer about this, and Matt’s whereabouts.

And there’s the question of Jared’s family. There’s little chance any of them are still alive, but would their descendants like to know what happened to Jared? Would they prefer to have a ceremony for him? To bury him in their plots and to know there’s a marker to visit.

Jensen will have to order a marker for Jared.

“You want any spot in particular?”

Jared eyes the ground speculatively, and then points to an empty spot near Jeff’s headstone.

“There’s fine. I always liked Jeff and it’s far enough from the tree line we won’t be fighting tree roots every inch.”

It’s practical, logical, and Jensen feels himself balking.

“Shouldn’t we get the other ghosts? Or Chris and Aldis? Don’t you want mourners?”

Hazel eyes, predominantly green in the now waning sunlight, turn on him fully.

“Do you feel like mourning?”

“You were a good man.”

“I would like to think I am a good man, but what does that matter?”

“Good people should be remembered. They should be mourned. It should matter that you died. That you were lost. There should be a monument and people crying. There should be meaning.”

Instead of responding Jared picks up the shovel and starts to dig. Jensen waits for something, anything, but when Jared just keeps working he finally picks his own shovel up and gets to work. It’s hard, and his leg isn’t enjoying it, but after a sweaty and intense period of digging they have a shallow grave. Jared puts his own body into the grave and then looks up and wipes his forehead. There’s no sweat, but there is dirt.

“Will you give me a eulogy?”

He blinks several times, unsure if he’s heard that correctly, and then Jensen swallows once before stepping to the graveside.

“His name was-“

“Is.”

Jensen jerks, and then nods in agreement.

“His name is Jared Padalecki and he was-“

“Is.”

“Do you want me to do this or do you?”

“I’m the son of an English teacher. Tense is important Jensen.”

He makes a sour face and picks up where he left off.

“He is an artist, a good friend, and a good man. He loved-loves to laugh and to talk. He talks too much. Way too much.”

“This doesn’t seem very mournful or respectful.”

Jared’s lips are curling up, and he scoops up a shovelful of dirt and drops it over the bundle.

“It’s hard to be a proper mourner when you’re standing right there mocking me.”

“That would be the point.”

Jensen drops his shovel and looks at Jared in the dimming light.

“You’re teaching me a lesson.”

Jared nods, crosses the space, and cups Jensen’s chin in his dirty hands. They’re still cool, texture unchanged from the digging but gritty sand particles rubbing against his skin.

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you think I need it.”

“Do you?” Jared’s thumb rubs against Jensen’s lower lip, gentle and sweet, and Jensen swallows.

A first kiss in a graveyard is not exactly movie material.

“No. I don’t need you to remind me that you’re not gone. I can feel you, Jared. I know you’re here.”

The lips curl fully now, pink tongue slipping out and wetting Jared’s lips before he leans in. Jensen can’t feel breath against his mouth, but he only notices because he’s looking for it. Instead he feels the barest bit of pressure from Jared’s lips as they brush gently against his.

“And I always will be. No one needs to cry over this hole, or the shell in it, or the man you think is being put into it. I’m not there. I’m right here in front of you. My name is Jared Padalecki. I’m an artist, I’m a ghost, and I’m yours if you want me. I can touch you, I can listen to you, and I can annoy the shit out of you with my constant talking. If my death has to have meaning then make it that dying here gave me the ability to stick around until you came. It brought me to you. So stop looking at death as the end. It’s just an intermission in the play.”

Jensen reaches up, threads his fingers into Jared’s hair and pulls him down into a kiss. There’s dirt on Jared’s lips, but his mouth tastes oddly sweet, and is just as cool as the rest of him. Jared pauses for only a second, lips stuttering against Jensen’s, and then he opens his mouth and deepens the contact. Jared’s fingers spread out, consume Jensen’s face, and the encasement brings him fully into the moment. He forgets that they are in a graveyard, that Jared is dead, that this whole thing is some sort of crazy diversion from normalcy that anyone else would probably commit Jensen for.

His left hand slips down, slides along the length of Jared’s torso and to edge of the button up shirt, and then Jensen is touching the cool and taut flesh of Jared’s stomach. He feels the muscles ripple underneath his fingers, reacting to his presence, and it’s better than he could have ever imagined. His hand settles there and helps him memorize every contraction, every hitch as Jared kisses him dizzy and stupid.

Jensen should have guessed that this would be the way Jared kissed. The man takes up entire rooms with his personality, eclipses light and reason with his smiles, so why wouldn’t he be able to take every thought and fear out of Jensen’s head with his kissing? It’s so cheesy, the whole idea of it, but he can’t help it. He wants more.

Except the kiss breaks, Jared’s forehead rests against his, hair tickling Jensen, and one thumb slips down to rasp against Jensen’s stubble.

“We should finish this and go inside.”

Jensen pictures Jared sprawled out underneath him on the couch, big hands touching more of him and lips slipping against his as their bodies work their way into the cushions. He imagines how good it will be to feel all of Jared pressed against him.

And all he has to do is help Jared bury the past.

“Yeah. Let’s do that.”

 

\-----

Jensen wakes up on the couch to the doorbell ringing. He at least showered after the grave digging, sadly alone, but he’s in the rumpled clothes he changed into before joining Jared in the living room. On the couch. Where they didn’t watch a minute of whatever background noise was playing on the TV.

He makes his way to the door with a smile on his face. A little bounce in his step, and it never occurs to him until the sunlight is pouring in and revealing his visitor that maybe he should have gone to bed at a decent hour last night so he wouldn’t be greeting the priest blessing his home looking like he spent the night making out with someone.

If he’s expecting the awkwardness to go both ways he’s severely disappointed, because the blue-eyed priest squints at him for a moment before a big smile breaks out on his face and he holds out one hand. Jensen takes it carefully and shakes before stepping back to welcome him in.

“Father Pellegrino?”

The priest smiles some more as he looks around.

“Oh no. He ended up too busy I’m afraid. I’m Deacon Collins, but you can call me Misha.”

Jensen has to work to wrap his foggy brain around that, but when it becomes clear he feels a little more bitterness towards the church than he did before.

“A Deacon? Can a Deacon do this?”

The clergyman looks at him with amusement, and Jensen wonders if that’s his default face.

“I assure you I finished the same seminary training as Father Mark. In fact I got better grades. But in the end I was in love with a woman, and he was in love with the priesthood. Not that I don’t love my calling, I just love my Vicki too.”

Deacon Misha breaks off, takes a deep breath, and looks around again. Jensen feels the need to fill the silence, but he’s not entirely sure what he’s supposed to say here. Good for you or Sounds logical? His own choice in partner would probably send the Deacon into apoplexy.

Or maybe not considering with every vibe Deacon Misha is giving off he lives against the strict code Jensen has learned from his minimal interactions with Catholicism and his exposure in movies. Maybe he should ask a normal question, something he’d ask anybody else.

Deacon Misha takes the need out of his hand by seamlessly picking up the conversation as if there isn’t a strained and confused look on Jensen’s face.

“You know, I’ve wanted to search this place since I was a kid. Vicki, my wife, and I were high school sweethearts and all the kids used to dare each other to come up on the porch and touch the front door. It was a ritual. I guess even then ritual was important to me. We actually did it once on our second date. Finished dinner and then drove up here and psyched ourselves up in the car for fifteen minutes before just rushing it. Thought I’d piss myself. You mind if I get something to drink?”

Jensen nods dumbly and leads Deacon Misha through the house into the kitchen. He’s pouring the tea when the man speaks again.

“So how many ghosts are there really?”

The tea splashes and Jensen reminds himself that this is exactly what he asked for, or not exactly but close, and he should be handling it better. Except now that the clergyman is here Jensen is starting to consider all the ramifications.

“What?”

Misha’s eyes sparkle as he pulls paper towels and mops up the spill. His mouth is quirked funny, like he and Jensen are sharing an old joke.

“Ghosts. There’s multiple, I know that at least, but they must be doing something awful if you’re this desperate to get rid of them.”

“Why do you think I’m desperate to get rid of them?”

His head tilts, one eyebrow cocked at a crazy angle, and Jensen wonders if maybe the real priest will show up in a few minutes and this guy will turn out to be some kind of lunatic who just wanted access to the local haunted house. Or who just really likes dressing up in clergy outfits and walking through people’s houses.

“There’s not a single religious symbol in your house, not even a Pier One decoration. You can barely meet my eye, you called every church in the area until you got the one that’s most lax on the rules, and you don’t seem to know what exactly it is I’m going to be doing today.”

“Blessing the house?”

The Deacon laughs, head tilting back and chest heaving, until he finally gets himself back under control. Barely.

“Yes. That. So, let’s get some things out of the way. I don’t have a problem with homosexuality, I don’t mind that you’re not Catholic, and I’m going to do the blessing for you free of charge but I’ll also peek into cabinets because I’m nosy. You don’t have to believe in the Holy Trinity or the Sacrament for it to work because I’m going to take care of that, and when I’m done you’ll be a hundred percent ghost free.”

“And that’s a good thing.” The voice comes from behind him, the doorway out to the yard, and Jensen spins around on one foot to see Jared standing in the kitchen doorway with a look on his face that is jovial, pleasant, and totally devoid of any honest emotion.

“Jared. Wait not that’s not-“

But Jared just smiles, shakes his head, and then crosses the room to shake Deacon Misha’s hand.

“Jared Padalecki.”

“Deacon Misha Collins. Are you guys life partners? You’re a tall one.”

“They grow ‘em bigger in Texas.” Jared still has that frozen smile on his face, and it’s so obvious that even Misha who’s just met him is shifting uncomfortably. “How long do you think this is gonna take?”

“With a place this big probably about an hour or two. Although a good bit of that is just me walking around and looking in everything. Do you guys want to come with, or would you prefer to stay down here? You don’t have to be with me; I won’t steal anything.” It’s a weak joke to combat the way Jared and Jensen didn’t answer his question, the frozen look still on Jared’s face.

Jensen tries to figure out what he’s supposed to do, who he’s supposed to talk to, but there’s no time because Jared cuts in first.

“Jensen will go with you. He’s the one so eager to get rid of the ghosts. Good luck to you both.”

And with that Jared disappears and leaves Jensen alone with the Deacon. Literally disappears. There’s a short silence, the two of them simply looking at the place Jared just was, and then Misha lets out a bright and loud noise.

“Cool!”

\----

“So let me get this straight, you befriended the ghosts?”

“Well when you put it that way it sounds stupid.”

“I’m not judging you I’m just trying to clarify. If you’re friends with them, or from the look of hurt on his face and despair on yours more than friends with the ghosts why would you bring me out here to banish them?”

Jensen has to wonder if his answer will get him locked in an asylum. Although considering what he’s already seen of the Deacon, and how quickly Misha accepted everything, probably not. Jared’s disappearance may have hurt their burgeoning relationship, but it only helped validate everything Jensen is about to have to say.

“I’m not trying to banish them. But they’re…they’re stuck here. At least that’s how it was described to me. Trapped by the house. And I don’t think they all want to be here. And the house took a swing at us.”

“Us as in you and Jared?”

“Us as in me and my ex-boyfriend. It was making him crazy and it- God this all sounds insane. It made Jared’s wife kill him. It made Matt angry at me. Like ‘was gonna hit me’ angry. And then Jared stopped him.”

“Well good on Jared. So you don’t necessarily want all of the ghosts gone. Just the ones that want to leave. And whatever evil is inside the house.”

“Yeah. That. Except now he thinks I want to get rid of him. Which is the opposite of what I want.”

Misha’s hands fold under his chin and his face takes on a look of glee. Jensen finds himself slightly disturbed by it.

“Jensen. Are you in love with your haunting?”

He scoffs, once, but it feels forced and Misha’s laughter suggests it didn’t come out any more believable than it sounded to him.

“We just met.”

“I knew about Vicki roughly five minutes after I first spoke to her. Just met is no excuse. Plus, you guys already live together.”

“That hardly counts. He doesn’t live anywhere.”

Misha’s grin grows Cheshire Cat huge, and he leans forward before tapping Jensen lightly with one finger on the nose.

“That, is nothing but semantics. He’s real to you isn’t he? You can touch him, you can see him, and he has a personality and a spirit separate from your own that you find attractive. A pulse seems like such a little thing to worry about compared to those qualifications.”

Jensen swallows once and then rubs his face.

“Are you supposed to be condoning this?”

“There’s a reason we’re the only church who would send someone out to your house without you paying your weekly tithe and proving you’re one of the good, God-fearing sheeple. As far as I and Father Pellegrino are concerned God is love, and love is something he treasures. Everything happens for a reason. Nothing is chance. I believe that. I think your stumbling block right now is that you can’t see the reason for it. That’s understandable. But keep an open mind and give God a chance to show you His plan.”

“I don’t believe in God.”

Misha stood then, opened the case he’d brought in with him and began to remove his ritual tools.

“Well, then the only thing that waits for us beyond the flesh is apparently your house.”

“Do you really think this will work?”

The Deacon smiles, eyes bright and friendly, and Jensen wonders if he should call the whole thing off. If this was a bad idea.

“To be honest? I don’t know Jensen. I’m pretty sure someone has tried this before. If you’re right though, and it’s the house and not the ghosts, then perhaps it’s because no one’s ever gotten to the heart of the matter before. Treated the symptoms and not the disease.”


	6. Chapter 6

Swing low  
Grey bones  
I don't know  
If I'll ever be whole again

 

Misha leaves two hours later, and Jensen isn’t sure he notices any difference between before and after. Other than the fact that the grand old house is silent and he’s not being kept entertained by any ghosts. The Deacon leaves Jensen his number just in case, but Jensen isn’t sure he’ll use it. If the trick worked then he has nothing to call about, and if it didn’t then bringing the man back out is pointless. He seemed nice, but Jensen isn’t in the market for new friends right now.

After all, he just made a house full, and there’s a chance he just sent them off into the great Unknown. Misha’s line about the flesh stays with him. Jensen doesn’t bother with the Ouija board or walking around the house attempting to summon Jared. When Jared wants to talk to him he will.

If he’s still capable.

Jensen focuses instead on the process of cleaning grit and grime from the old bricks. He remembers what Jared said about the fireplace, how Jeff built it first and it was the only thing that survived the tornado that killed almost the entire town. The first lives lost here, before the house was even entirely built. Something nags at Jensen then, tugs at the back of his mind and tells him he needs to focus, but he can’t.

Because there are footsteps behind him that ring out on the hardwood and then stop. It’s a courtesy being offered to him. He knows it. Appreciates it. But still dreads what is coming.

“I didn’t do it to get rid of you.”

Jared doesn’t respond instantly. He stands perfectly still behind Jensen, and then a cold hand lands on Jensen’s shoulder. Cold not cool. Jensen realizes his mistake instantly.

He tries to jerk forward, out of the suddenly harsh grip, but there is no escaping it. Jensen is dragged backwards onto his ass, heels slamming into the ground and hands reaching out for the closest doorframe as he’s dragged deeper into the house. Manliness is sacrificed when he gets pulled up the first step, wood slamming harshly into his spine, and he still can’t seem to get a good look at the shape holding him.

Screaming seems useless, childish, but Jensen can’t help himself. He wonders how many of the deaths attributed to falling down the stairs began just this way. How many people thought they were safe on the ground floor and then found themselves being dragged to their doom? His fingers scrape wood and one of his nails snaps off as he tries to anchor himself uselessly while crying for help. Wailing for Jared.

Jensen’s head bounces on the landing for the second floor, and he’s momentarily stunned, voice dying on an odd yawp and the house spinning around him. For a moment he thinks he can see the shape dragging him, that it’s a man instead of a dark shadow, and then he’s pressed against the railing of the third floor balcony and staring down at the parquet floor below.

This is how he’s going to die. Plunging head first into the wood floor and snapping his neck. He’s going to be stuck here forever, screaming at people he thinks are trespassers and struggling to remember who he is. Will Jared forgive him if he’s dead? Or will he lose even that connection? Will Aldis and Chris visit him?

Breath is difficult to drag into his lungs as the railing presses into him, and Jensen struggles weakly before the wood scrapes his chest and he is falling towards the floor. And then there’s a flare of pain in his shoulder, but something cool and firm is holding his wrist. Jensen blinks blearily at the hand holding him, at the arm attached, and then at Jared’s horrified face. Jensen is dangling next to the second floor landing, Jared the only thing standing between him and two broken legs now that some of his fall has been removed.

“Jared.”

A pink tongue slips out and wets pink lips, and Jensen thinks for just a moment that maybe Jared likes Jensen as much as Jensen likes him. That maybe Jared is going to let him fall anyway to assure that Jensen can never banish him.

Guilt comes hard and strong seconds later as Jared pulls Jensen into him over the railing and collapses back into the wall. Jensen can’t hold himself up, he hangs limply in the circle of Jared’s arms, and presses his face into Jared’s chest. His maybe boyfriend smells like paint and dusty sunlight. He feels solid and strong under Jensen in a way no man has before, and there’s a sense of peace that comes with being held here where he’s safe and whole.

Then the adrenaline crashes, and Jensen’s shoulder is screaming in pain, his finger is on fire, and he’s having a panic attack. He hears his name from a distance away, fear and maybe confusion in the voice, and then Jensen is graying out and losing everything.

 

\---

 

When Jensen wakes up Jared is lying beside him with his eyes open and fixed on some point beyond the ceiling. There’s water soaking his shoulder from a melted bag of ice, and the pain in his finger is muted. He’s pretty sure Jared slipped him something, because he feels fuzzy and his mouth is full of cotton.

“What’d you-“

“One of the pain pills in your vanity cabinet. I thought you’d need it. We popped your shoulder back into place, so it’s going to stay swollen for a bit and you need to be careful with it. The finger is going to take longer. The whole nail is gone. We cleaned out the nail bed though so I’m pretty sure it won’t get infected.”

“Thank you. Jared I-“

“Was only trying to help. I heard. If you had mentioned it to me I would have told you that the priest thing has been done before. A lot.”

Jared doesn’t sound angry, but he doesn’t sound like Jared either. There’s no life to him, and Jensen rolls painfully onto his side so he can get a really good look at the other man.

There’s no color to Jared. He looks insubstantial, unstable, and Jensen doesn’t understand why. He’s almost afraid that if he reaches out in this moment and puts his hand on Jared it will pass through. For the first time the term ghost holds some deeper meaning, and Jensen is afraid that somehow he has managed to kill Jared again.

“I’m sorry. Jared I’m sorry.”

A half grin, slow and painful, spreads over Jared’s face.

”You need to leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“No. You are. I used your phone to call Chris and Aldis. You’re going to go on a trip and that’s final. It’s the only way to keep you safe.”

“I can’t leave you. Don’t you understand that? I told Matt I wasn’t leaving, I told them I wasn’t leaving, and I meant it. I’m staying. You guys are my friends. You’re my-I’m not leaving you.”

Jared’s wan half-smile dies entirely, and he pushes up from the bed and stands in place in the afternoon sunlight.

He’s half relieved that it doesn’t shine through Jared.

“There’s something wrong with this house. Its heart is twisted and evil, and it’s going to kill you. It’s going to use one of us to kill you. This time it was- it doesn’t matter. Next time it could be me. I won’t let that happen. I won’t let it use me to hurt you. So you’re going to leave, and you’ll forget all about this. And we’ll go on, like we always do. We don’t need you, and I don’t want you here anymore. Goodbye.”

And with that, Jared is gone, and Jensen is left alone in the bed too drowsy and hurt to even try to get up and find him.

That’s how Chris and Aldis find him, and his friends half carry him out of the house and into their car.

 

\----

 

“Jesus it really did a number on you. Jensen, man, this is for the best. Really. I mean look at what happened! If he hadn’t caught you, and what a catch dude, you would have died! That house is evil. We’ll sell it, or burn it, or something it, and get you a nice condo. Maybe the ghosts will come with. I mean it worked in the Poltergeist series. And after all it’s not your responsibility to save every dead person there.”

Aldis sits across from him at the table, gesturing with a piece of pizza that is in serious danger of flinging topping shrapnel everywhere if he gets just a little more passionate about making his case for Jensen never returning to Oak Tree. Chris occasionally makes a noise that is either assent or gas.

Jensen hasn’t spoken in two days. He’s not sure what to say. A part of him thinks he should argue with them. That he should say that he has a vested interest not only in the house but in the ghosts. Financially, emotionally, physically he is tied to that house already. Once upon a time when Jensen was young and idealistic he believed that what they did was akin to surgery. That he would put his hands in the organs of a house and bring it back to life, cut out the pieces that didn’t work and replace them with better ones.

Since the accident though he’s felt like an undertaker, prepping the corpses for yet another financially troubled family to throw their luck behind a failing financial system and a hopeless chase of whatever the American Dream is these days. Jensen is tired of being cynical, jaded, and if he turns his back on the world he’s been introduced to now that’s all he’ll ever be. He’s been given a chance at a second life, at something important, and he can’t run from it.

But thinking all of that doesn’t change the fact that Jensen doesn’t know what to do. He could hire psychic after psychic hoping that one of them wasn’t a fraud and knew what they were doing, but what’s the point? If the priest trick had been tried before how many people had brought in crystal waving sensitives in the hopes they could purge the evil from the house too?

That tug is happening again, but Jensen can’t get it to coalesce into something solid and meaningful. Aldis is still talking. Has managed to launch a pepperoni halfway across the table and can’t seem to notice the way Chris is eyeing it. It’s all white noise to Jensen now as he tries to follow the thread of intuition to its logical conclusion.

Everyone has tried to cleanse the house of its evil. Everyone who’s ever died there has been trapped there. Something about the property, something about the structure, gives it the ability to do that. So what? Indian burial ground? Witch’s curse?

Maybe Jeff did something that none of them know about. Maybe he pissed off a pagan god or made a deal with the Devil. Just because he seems nice doesn’t mean-

“Jen, you listening?”

His head jerks up, shoulder jostling and screaming at him, and Jensen is reminded again of how deep in this he is, and how dire the stakes are.

“Yeah. I’m listening.”

“Then what was I saying?”

Chris saves him. “Nothing important. Jen, get some rest. We’ll figure it out tomorrow.”

And that sounds promising. Good. Except they don’t figure it out tomorrow, because Jensen spends the day in a low grade painkiller haze on their couch. In fact he repeats that behavior for three days straight. Aldis acts the mother hen, hovering over him and talking non-stop. He goes back and forth between being supportive about Jensen’s decision to tie himself to the house and Jared, and decrying everything to do with the place.

Chris broods in the background, and Jensen appreciates the space even as he wishes Chris’s no-nonsense style of advice would pop up sometime soon and make sense of all of this. He’s wallowing in self-pity, he knows that, doesn’t need Chris to tell him. But still, it would be nice to just get a little push.

Jensen staggers into the dining room on the fourth day and stares at the table Chris is sitting at, sheets of paper and blueprints spread out in front of him.

He recognizes his own house without effort.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking over the plans. Several years' worth.” Chris shifts the top layer of blueprints to show Jensen the stack underneath. Every addition, remodel, and planning commission approval is here. Jensen wants to hug Chris. This means his friend has a plan.

He takes the seat across from Chris and steals his friend’s mug. Chris laughs without looking up.

“And that’s how I know you’re back with us. Now. Here is where the graveyard mysteriously drops off the plat.”

Jensen studies the change in the two drawings. Drags his finger along the smooth space in the backyard and then over the markers indicating the tiny graveyard.

“Someone paid off that surveyor. But why? Why hide the graveyard? Shit like that sells houses down here. History and –“

But doesn’t he know? Because the history of the house is steeped in blood and tragedy. Because every inch of it is haunted from the core to the-

To the.

“Where’s the oldest one? The oldest blueprints?”

Christ digs for a moment and then pulls out the oldest set he can find.

“It’s from 1901. Before they added the third floor and the ballroom. Why Jen? You got an idea?”

“Something like that.”

It’s been staring him in the face. So many people have said it and Jensen ignored them, forgot every lesson he’s ever gained from his years working with houses, and how could he be so blind? It started with Jeff. It started with the first incarnation of the house.

The heart. Dirty and evil to its core, the house’s heart is rotten. And the heart of the house, the only thing left after the tornado came through and destroyed all of it was the imported brick fireplace. The very thing he was messing with when the house decided it was time for Jensen to die.

“We need a way to hold it off long enough to do a little deconstruction.”

Chris’s mouth pulls up into a dark and ominous grin.

“I think we can get that.”

 

\------

 

They stand on the front lawn in a line, sledgehammers and equipment bag sitting on the grass. Jensen wonders if the house sees them through its windows.

He remembers that when he bought it he honestly thought that it looked so charming and quaint. He saw potential in the peeling paint and the faded shudders, beauty that simply needed a skilled hand to restore it. But now all he sees is evil. This is the place that almost killed him, that killed Jared and all the others he’s come to appreciate and enjoy.

Chris clears his throat, and Aldis squares his shoulders and nods.

“Remember the most important lesson.” It’s delivered gravely, and Jensen turns to look at Aldis staring at the house with a sort of grim composure he’s never seen on his friend’s face before.

“What’s that?” Chris hefts the bag up in one hand and sledgehammer in the other.

“If someone asks if you’re a god, tell them yes.”

Jensen bursts into high almost hysterical laughter as Chris shoots his boyfriend a dour look and heads for the front porch.

Honestly he expects the house to stop them, but when the door opens it is silent and dark inside. There’s no movement in the grand entryway, and Jensen pauses for half a second before crossing the threshold. Did Jared say they had to die inside the house, or simply on the property? After all, Jeff and his wife didn’t die in the house as it is now.

Aldis lets out a high-pitched squeak and Jensen spins on the ball of his foot to see Samantha standing in the doorway to the dining room, one hand pressed to her chest and eyes wide.

“What are you doing here? This is my house. Get out of my house.” Samantha’s eyes sparkle in the darkness, wet and confused, and Jensen feels sorry for her at the same time he worries that she’s going to attract the attention of the house if they haven’t already.

“Samantha, please, it’s Jensen and we’re here to-“

“Who are you? I’m calling the cops!” Jensen spins to see Charles, holding a knife in the hallway to the kitchen. Chris steps forward and Jensen can see he has the holy water in one hand and the salt in the other. Jensen hopes their research was right, but they won’t know until it’s too late.

Which, technically, is right now. That they’re in the house at the mercy of it. And Jensen is only just now realizing how many chess pieces it has to move against them.

“On three make a run for the parlor. I’ll lay down the salt while you and Chris start whaling on the fireplace.” Aldis’ voice is calm, the opposite of what his face says he’s feeling, and Jensen is glad for it.

“Sounds good.” Chris passes the salt over to his boyfriend, readies himself to bolt, and then Jensen looks up to see Jeff on the stairs with the fireplace poker in his hands. Again.

“Get out of my house.”

“Three.” Chris moves the moment the word leaves his mouth, and the group of them bolt across the wood floor and through the archway into the grand parlor Jensen loved so much during the Open House.

Jensen’s feet skid along the floor as he stops before the fireplace, too much momentum sending him crashing into the wall and fighting to stay upright. Chris doesn’t do any better, slamming against the bricks himself, and behind them they hear Aldis yelling that everything is fine as he lays down salt. Jensen looks up to see that the ghosts have stopped at the salt line, and that more are gathering behind the ones he already saw.

“Get it done! Get it done now!” Aldis is laying down a second and third line, whites of his eyes particularly big with how wide they are, and Jensen plans on paying for the two of them to go on any vacation they want after this whole thing is over.

He cocks his sledgehammer back, Chris moving in perfect synchronicity, and then a body hurtles in front of both of them.

“Stop! What are you doing to my fireplace?”

It’s Jared, eyes full of shock and fear, and Jensen’s grip on the hammer slips as Chris pulls his blow at the last second and just manages to miss Jared. Jensen’s hammer strikes him though, and Jared lets out a cry and crumples to the ground. Jensen wants to check on him, but he knows that Jared is lacking the ability to be seriously injured. It’s just the memory of hurt that Jared is experiencing right now.

He has to believe that, because he has a job to do. On his second pass the hammer strikes into the brick in an explosion of dust and chips, and Jensen idly considers the fact that neither of them are wearing safety goggles.

Jensen was always a hardass about safety goggles.

Each blow is surer than the last, and the ancient brick falls under the strength of the modern hammers and their wielders. Aldis is talking behind them, maybe trying to soothe the ghosts or himself Jensen isn’t sure. What he does know is that every second counts, and there’s no telling when the house will figure out a new way to get at them.

As if on cue the windows blow open, and Jensen has time to curse the fact that they didn’t think about that before a heavy weight crashes into him. Chris cries out, voice high and scared, but Jensen manages to cry back that he should keep going.

The weight on his chest is massive, and when Jensen can get his vision to stop doubling from the hit his head just took he realizes that it’s Jared sitting on him. Jared’s big, gentle, cool hands settling around his throat. He gets one last deep breath before the grip settles in and Jared is officially choking the life out of him.

For what seems to be hours Jensen fights for breath, fights to get his boyfriend off of him, but there’s no moving Jared. Jared is a mountain. Jared is the death he didn’t find in the car, and he wonders if this is how he looked to the boy dying on top of him. If there was this little haze, like a camera soft lens, and if the boy wished that Jensen would smile one last time.

Jensen would like to see Jared’s smile one more time.

And then there’s a crashing noise, something far off through a tunnel, and Jared’s hands go slack and soft around Jensen’s neck. Breath rushes into his lungs and his throat screams as Jared’s weight leaves his chest and Jensen rolls to pull in deep rattling breaths. He’s going to live. He’s going to live and by the confused looks on the faces of the ghosts their plan was successful.

Big hands grab him and pull him up, and then Jared is staring into his eyes, radiating concern and anguish.

“I told you. I told you I didn’t want to be the one to hurt you. Why. Why did you come back Jensen?”

Jensen reaches one shaky hand up and pets Jared’s face, fingers tracing where dimples should go, along one mole, and over the soft lips he knows so well.

“I’m thirsty.”

Chris bursts into wild laughter somewhere in the background, and Aldis joins him. Jared’s lips quirk, small but visible, and then he’s pulling Jensen into a tight hug that Jensen doesn’t want to escape.

But he really is thirsty.

 

\---

 

Chris and Aldis are sleeping down the hall, and Jared is tenderly holding an ice pack to Jensen’s throat as he continues to rattle off what is a fairly epic bitching about not listening to him and endangering Jensen’s person and any other number of things. Jensen doesn’t think he’ll be stopping any time soon.

“Do you really value your life that little? You fucking idiot. Running in like a goddamn cowboy going after a-“

“You’re hot.”

Jared stops, face perplexed, and then Jensen sees the gears turn and click into place for modern language. A slight flush graces his cheeks even as his eyes narrow on Jensen’s face.

“You think that’s going to distract me?”

“Yes?”

“You’re a twice-damned fool.” Jared takes the ice pack down and sits on the edge of the bed. “How’s your throat?”

“Not as good as you look.”

Jared laughs openly at that, fingers coming up to brush moisture off Jensen’s neck and lingering over the bruises.

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

“And you still haven’t. That was the house. And it’s all fine now because it’s been stopped.”

Jared’s head shakes, and he leans in to press a chaste kiss on Jensen’s lips. Which is the exact opposite of what he wants. Jensen just had a near death experience and the last thing he wants right now is chastity.

“How corporeal are you?”

Jared squints at him, face scrunching up adorably, and Jensen grabs the long hair and pulls Jared in for a real kiss. Deep, hard, tongue sliding past Jared’s shocked lips and rubbing his teeth for just a second before Jared relaxes his mouth and lets Jensen all the way in.

One big hand lands somewhere on his waist, the other curls around the side of his throat and pets it softly. Jared is trying to redirect the emotion, but Jensen is having none of it. He has his house back, he’s secured his relationship, and he survived an encounter with evil. He’ll be damned if his prize is another night of blue balls and wondering.

That being said, he should probably ask. But his mouth is a little busy, and the hand that isn’t holding Jared’s head steady is plucking at the smooth, old buttons of Jared’s shirt. Jensen wonders if this is the shirt Jared died in. Sometimes it changes colors, but the style of his slacks and button-up combo is always the same. Does he have access to his wardrobe? Or is it the memory of his clothing? The cloth probably wouldn’t have survived this long.

Jared pulls back, eyes wide and chest moving fast, and Jensen thinks score one for the autonomic nervous system.

“Are you-Jensen are you seducing me?”

He laughs, not the nicest thing to do but the look of virgin shock on Jared’s face is comical after Jensen has learned about Jared’s life. There’s an obvious flash of hurt that makes Jensen’s laughter die before he slides one hand along Jared’s now bared chest.

“Yeah. I’m seducing you. Is it working?”

A pause, head tilting and puppy-dog look firmly in place, and then Jared pulls his shirt off and grabs the hem of Jensen’s.

“I’d say so. Quite a bit.”

Jensen knows his way from here. He knows the ins and outs of the act well enough to focus on the details while his hands take over the mechanical process of undressing Jared, and helping Jared undress him. Jared is smooth, skin soft and cool, and Jensen sucks in a breath at the defined v-cut, the sharp jut of his hipbones, the rippling musculature that covers his abdomen and slides over the outlines of his ribs.

When Jared’s pants unbuckle and slide off Jensen is treated to an incredibly hard and large cock, paler than the rest of Jared and already leaking pre-come. It’s probably the best thing Jensen has ever seen, because it means that this can work. All of this can work. He can have the rest of Jared, and still have this. The biological logistics of Jared not having a working circulatory system but being able to get hard flit briefly through his mind and then slide away as Jensen wraps a hand around Jared’s cock at the same time Jared disengages from his mouth and bends down to take one of Jensen’s nipples in his mouth.

He gasps, arching into the cool suction, and his hand spasms on Jared’s dick and draws a groan out of him. Jensen is used to first times going quickly, but there’s a chance this one will be over before it starts. He tries to think of not sexy things, but Jared twists to grab lube from the nightstand and Jensen watches the way muscles play under skin and feels Jared’s cock jump in his hand, and not sexy isn’t a possibility.

“Do you bottom or top?” Jensen is out of breath, doesn’t care what the answer is, and hopes the terminology has been around long enough that he won’t have to try to describe it.

Jared’s dirty grin as he pulls the lube out of Jensen’s nightstand and pops the cap is just enough to make Jensen’s cock jerk, and he gives Jared a rough pull to tell him that looks are great but he needs a game plan and he needs it now.

A big hand pushes him onto his back, and Jensen stares up at a suddenly much larger seeming man than he was in bed with a moment ago. That dirty grin is spreading, off-set by dimples that were once cute and now seem only wicked and sexy.

“I’m not picky ‘bout that, but I am pretty serious about technique. When your bad shoulder is all healed up I’ll take you, but till then you’re just gonna have to lie back and let me take care of things.”

Jensen can just see from this angle that Jared’s other hand is behind him, and he wishes he could spy exactly what it is that Jared is doing with those long fingers instead of just having to guess. A cool hand rubs lube over Jensen’s cock, and he has just enough time to think that when they do reverse positions he’ll prep himself because Jared is a little cool to make that fun.

Or maybe not, because the contrast of Jared’s body temperature against the heat of his dick is insane as Jared slides down onto him. He’s tight, so tight, and they moan in sync as Jared takes all of him in one swift descent.

For a moment they stay there, staring at each other, Jensen on the verge of trying to say something goofy or serious to move the mood out of the intensity that it’s suddenly found itself in, but Jared starts to move and that’s the end of that.

Jared is deadly in bed. Every movement screams experience and passion, there’s no odd angle to him, no weird sex faces, and no strange noises. Everything is precisely calculated to drive Jensen up the wall, and he settles his hands on Jared’s hips and sinks his fingers into the flesh as Jared rides him out.

Everything, the movement of Jared on his dick, the way Jared’s thighs tense and release against his, and the strength of Jared’s hands against his chest, all of this is new. Jensen can barely breathe, and when Jared bends over to kiss him, and his dick slides almost all the way out and catches on Jared’s rim he hisses with the need to get back in. To get to the magical land of completion.

And yet, at the same time, Jensen doesn’t want it to end. There’s something mystic about it, about coming together with someone so inherently different from himself, about touching and being touched after all the horror he’s lived with since the night of the accident.

It’s silly, a cliché to end all clichés, but in this moment Jensen feels complete. The scrape of Jared’s teeth against his lips and the dig of Jared’s nails into his pecs ground him and remind him that he’s still here, that’s he’s very much alive, and that he’s found someone to push him to continue living the life he’d begun to squander.

Jared gasps, twisting just right, and Jensen shifts his hips to keep the angle and try to hit Jared’s prostate with more accuracy. He’s almost embarrassed by how quickly he feels his orgasm approaching, and Jensen slides his hand from Jared’s hip to his cock and starts to jack him, alternating the intensity of the pressure and the speed in the interest of driving Jared just as crazy as he’s being driven.

Flesh slapping against flesh, panting breaths, and then Jared’s eyes fly open close to his and Jared breathes his name out once before he jerks hard against Jensen’s grip and comes. Jensen lasts through maybe two seconds of it before he’s coming himself in the tight confines of Jared’s ass.

He rides it out, thrusts through the last of his orgasm and continues to squeeze the head of Jared’s sensitive dick to prolong the joy of the orgasm, and then when he can’t keep focus on it anymore he lets go and feels Jared’s dick flop against his stomach before the whole weight of the man lands on him.

Jensen is breathless for a second, and then he gently pushes at Jared’s shoulder and Jared carefully rolls off, breathing deep and long beside Jensen.

“Holy shit.” Jared drops his arm over his eyes and lets out a little hoot.

“Holy shit indeed. I haven’t done that in so long.”

A little grin curves Jared’s lips, and Jensen wishes he could see his eyes.

“Yeah, me neither.”

Jensen lets that one go, and instead lifts Jared’s arm just enough so that he can make eye contact.

“This may be kinda fast, and a little bit corny, but I think I’m in love with you.”

There’s a beat, where Jensen thinks that Jared is going to panic or not answer, and then Jared’s eyes crinkle and his mouth pulls up into a tremendous grin followed by a deep laugh. Eventually the laughter has Jared curling around his own stomach, and Jensen wants to laugh with him but he’s not sure he’s not the joke.

Finally Jared gets control of himself, and he looks Jensen directly in the eyes.

“Well damn darling, me too. But I thought we established that when you moved in with me.”

Jensen is supremely pleased he can’t accidentally smother Jared when he covers his boyfriend’s face with a pillow and presses down.

 

\----

 

The morning sun wakes Jensen up none too gently, and it takes him a moment to figure out why the curtains are open. Jared stands in the beam, sunlight playing off his skin and shadowing the dips and hollows of his bones. Jensen wants to lick every one of them.

“Well. You’re an early riser.”

Jared gives the ghost of a smile as he turns fully to look at Jensen casting half his face in shadow.

“I don’t really sleep. Are you sure you want to stay Jensen? The house is going to change.”

“With any luck the house already changed. And yes. I’m sure. Now let’s go make some breakfast, because I’m starving, and then we’ll kick Aldis and Chris out and I’ll show you how much better my shoulder feels.”

Jensen watches Jared redress, focuses on the fact that he has to do up every little button and buckle. His own clothes slip on easier, and the two of them are headed down the stairs to the smell of coffee Jensen is already homing in on when last night’s question occurs to him.

“Do you have like…a wardrobe somewhere?”

“Not that I know of. I just…wear these.”

“Maybe we could get you to just wear something a little more current.”

A distasteful look is sent towards Jensen’s outfit.

Jeff is standing in the foyer, and Jensen waves to him and gets a tentative wave back. They round the corner and find Chris and Aldis already making breakfast in the big kitchen. Chris grins over a sizzling pan of bacon, and Aldis pours Jensen coffee and holds it out with a smirk.

“Poor Jared. Had to deal with the pre-coffee ogre Jensen.”

“I am a delight.” Jensen mumbles it around a mouthful and doesn’t miss Aldis rolling his eyes or Jared grinning in response.

“So I noticed we ain’t totally done with ghosts round here. Y’all all planning on staying?”

Jared sits down beside Jensen and shrugs delicately.

“Probably not all of us? There’s no telling what’s after this, and people with someone already here will probably stay. Charles and Adrianne, Laura and Samantha, and maybe Chad but that’s just because he’d miss the beer. I know Jeff’s probably pretty eager to try to find his wife.”

Chris flips the bacon and a frown crinkles the skin between his eyes. Aldis shares a look with him before turning to Jared.

“Why wouldn’t he stay here with his wife?”

“Because his wife isn’t here.” Jared pours a little sugar into Jensen’s coffee and ignores Jensen slapping at his hand.

“Why wouldn’t his wife be here?” Chris turns the burner off and steps forward, and apparently he and Aldis are sharing a line of thought but Jensen will be damned if he knows what it is.

“Because she didn’t die here? She’s never been here.”

And that’s when it hits Jensen. The thing that has been wiggling at the back of his brain and nipping at his tongue. He thought it was the blueprints, the ones Chris kept pulling out and poring over, because that’s what Jensen is trained to see. That’s where his eyes naturally go. To structures and plans, to carefully graphed out maps of places to live and eat. To work.

Jensen’s never been very good at looking at people. At sheets of facts and statistics. Or in this case, printed out microfiche articles from seemingly ancient times.

Chris says it before Jensen can think to stop him.

“She did die here. In the storm. Same as Jeff.”

The cabinet fronts explode, glasses and cups flying out and crashing against the wall and countertops. Drawers roll open and cooking implements go flying around the room bouncing off surfaces and slamming into the three of them. Jared jumps up and begins shouting for it to stop, for them to run, but Jensen is frozen on the spot.

Aldis lets out a wail, a paring knife sticking out of his thigh, and Chris grabs him and pulls him towards the back door. Jensen watches like a man in a nightmare, and then Jared is picking him up and running for the door. Everything is flying past him, and they pass Chris and Aldis stumbling along against each other. Jensen sees the border of the property, has time to think that maybe this is a dream because this sort of stuff isn’t supposed to happen on bright and sunny days with the birds chirping and the breeze blowing, and then they hit the edge of the property and Jensen is flying through the air and slamming into the ground.

Breath is driven out of him on impact, and Jensen rolls on the prickly grass and looks up to see Aldis and Chris skidding over the property border, and the back door of the house slamming shut with no one touching it.

Chris is out of breath, holding Aldis up and wiping streaks of blood from shards of glass off his face. None of them say the obvious, that they were wrong, that they’re not conquering heroes, but they do huddle together and stare hopelessly back onto the property where they aren’t safe, but where Jensen needs to return.

Because whatever is in there, whatever is waiting, it now has Jared and is supremely pissed off.

 

\---

 

Deacon Misha is sipping his coffee, staring at the three of them with surprise and interest, but no disbelief. He’s listened to the entire story from beginning to end, and his only contribution so far has been noises to tell them to continue.

Jensen is beginning to believe he’s not really listening, because at some point any sane person would have stopped them and told them they were full of shit.

Or maybe he’s insane.

Chris is describing the last moment, the kitchen going wild, and Jensen thinks of Jared being ported back into the house after carrying Jensen to safety. Did it hurt to be pulled back like that? Was it scary? It had to be maddening to know where the boundaries of your world were. To be unable to cross them.

The irony of his mild and recently acquired agoraphobia in relation to that thought is not worth contemplating. Instead Jensen looks up to see Aldis showing the Deacon his bandaged thigh and proclaiming that it was a butcher knife that he handily dodged so that he only got a small wound.

“So, this whole time you guys have been working with the assumption that the house was the evil because it’s always kept the souls, but that can’t be true because one of them is missing.”

Aldis makes a face and Chris cuts in before his boyfriend can take real offense.

“It seemed like a realistic belief at the time father, and I gotta tell you this ain’t exactly our specialty.”

Jensen wonders if he’ll feel guilty later that he destroyed the work of art that was once his ancient fireplace.

“I’m a deacon, and it’s not really my specialty either. But this sounds like a pretty classic horror movie plot. Every time you think the monster is dead it turns out it isn’t. So if it isn’t the house it’s got to be one of the ghosts. Jeff? He was the first, right?”

Chris pulls out all the information they got during their research phase and spreads it out over the table, but Jensen knows who it is. At least he thinks he does. There was a gap after Jeff, a time when all that was left on the property was a lonely fireplace and the ruins of Jeff’s dream.

What do they always say about ghosts in movies? That they’re people with unfinished business? Jensen wonders what she could have left to do, what could possibly keep someone so young behind. More importantly, he wonders what kind of little girl she was that this is what she is now. None of the other ghosts act like her, and as far as he knows none of them are able to control each other.

Maybe she was a willful child, someone who could manipulate and shape the adults around her. Spoiled and used to getting her way. He thinks of The Bad Seed, remembers how badly it creeped him out the first time Matt showed it to him.

And now he’s living it, albeit in a more traditional horror sense than a thriller one. Jensen reaches past the talking group of men around him and drags the relevant paper forward. It’s small, just a blurb about her death and her grieving parents, but Jensen remembers it clearly.

“This one. Sierra. This is the one.”

Aldis squints and then looks up at Jensen.

“Because of the timeline or the rash of creepy little kid movies?”

“The timeline. Look at it. Jeff dies, and then there’s no house and no direct deaths on the property until Sierra’s family moves in. Suddenly she dies, and every person that dies after is stuck there. I’ve seen her the least, Jared is the only one who talks to her directly, and she tried to scare me into falling down the stairs one day.”

“She threw you down the stairs?” Chris stands, hackles raised, and Jensen is touched and amused considering the attacker in question. Which is immediately followed by embarrassment when Jensen has to clarify.

“No. But she popped out of a corner when I was on them and I fell backwards. The other ghosts saved me. She just sat there. And she’s aggressive.”

Because sure, Jared stuck up for her, but Jensen has a better view of the situation than Jared does. Jensen can see clearly, because as much as he likes the ghosts the only one that he’s biased towards is Jared. And Jared is not the problem. Came way too late in the timeline to be the issue.

Jensen should have seen it then. Sure, the little girl has been around long enough to be an adult several times over, but her behavior was all wrong. The others had certainly, to one extent or another, gained knowledge of modern behavior and technology, but they hadn’t changed personalities. They hadn’t grown like that.

Sierra on the other hand acted nothing like a little girl. Not the kind Jensen was used to. And she never joined the group to enjoy herself, never got to know Jensen, and never spent time with the other ghosts.

It’s her. He’s sure of it. But now he has to figure out what to do about it.

“Misha. If she’s buried in the graveyard is there something you can do to send her spirit on? A blessing or something?”

Misha frowns thoughtfully at the print out of the newspaper blurb before looking up at Jensen.

“I can give her Last Rites, and that may do it. If it doesn’t I know maybe one other thing that would work. But we’d need shovels. And time. Can she attack us if we’re on the property?”

“Yeah. They can travel all the way to the edge. And if she ain’t gonna do it she can apparently use the other ghosts to do it. Which is damn unpleasant let me tell you.” Chris is still up, hand rubbing at the scratches on his face, but he has that glint in his eyes that Jensen knows means he’s got a plan and he’s going to do it come Hell or high water.

Which, considering the storm clouds building outside, might be both.

Aldis perks up, a smile on his face that is more than a little manic.

“Hey Jen, you said some of them know how to use modern technology right?”

“Yeah. A bunch of them have learned from families that have moved in.”

“But the evil little girl hasn’t?”

Jensen considers his answer before giving it. “I don’t think so. She doesn’t have much involvement at all with the living. Or the dead really.”

“Do you have your cell phone on you?”

He pats his pockets and then shakes his head. Not entirely sure where Aldis is going with this.

“I must have forgotten to grab it in between waking up and being attacked by a crazy ghost.”

Aldis pulls out his own phone, dials, and then waits for a bit before putting it on speaker. The voice on the other end is Chad, and he sounds both amused and a little buzzed. Which is normal, and good to hear. He’s not being used by Sierra.

“-Jensen’s phone but he isn’t here right now. Can I take a message?”

“Chad. Chad it’s Jensen. Is there anybody else around?”

A beat, a thump, and then the sound of the bedroom door closing.

“Nope. Not a single one. Everybody scattered when they saw what happened. Jared’s guilting himself into a coma, and Samantha is working hard to help him but she’s having an off day. Dude, I thought you fixed this shit, but everybody’s in a weird mood now and it just seems worse. Are you coming back?”

“Chad, I need you to focus. Do you know where Sierra is?”

“…Uh. No? She’s not my biggest fan. Told me I had the brain cells of a houseplant. Which was kinda mean to be honest, because I’m actually pretty smart. I mean, I think so. But you know there’s no accounting for-“

“I need you to find her. I need you to find her and keep her busy ok? We think we know what went wrong, and how to fix it, but if she knows about it then it might not work. Can you do that?”

Chad laughs, and then his voice drops in volume and gains a terrible British accent. “Whatever you say M. I can keep my cover in the worst situations.”

Aldis covers his mouth to smother a burst of surprised laughter, and Misha doesn’t even bother. Jensen isn’t laughing, but he’s glad Chad is so in the present. It’s a good sign, and it gives him hope.

“Alright man. Just keep her as busy as you can and away from the back of the house.”

“Will do.”

 

\----

The skies crack open as they turn onto his street, and Jensen shivers as a strike of lightning illuminates the house in perfect dramatic timing and is followed close by a crack of thunder.

“This better work this time, because I’m using all my badass credit up on this house. I might need some later this year to intimidate Chris.”

“Like you ever had any to make that work.” Chris shifts in the driver seat, unbuckles his belt and scans the street slow and careful.

Beside Jensen, Misha is busily kissing his stole, placing it around his shoulders, and removing a variety of items Jensen has seen in movies from a gilded box. It’s a new side to the Deacon, because every movement is carefully done and reverent. Jensen wasn’t entirely sure he was capable of such an emotion.

The rain pounds against the car, and Jensen is gripped by a sudden and made desire to tell Chris to turn the car around and take them back. They can do this tomorrow when the sun is out again and there isn’t the very heavens telling them that they’re trapped in a cycle of horror and madness.

Except if he waits he’ll chicken out. He has a history of it. He’s refused to face the facts about the accident until he was forced to. He’s locked himself away until now when he had something else to be panicked about than the thought of another crash.

If Jensen pauses this he’ll never come back. It’s not the most flattering of personal realizations, but Jensen is a coward, and if he chickens out of this one he’ll be leaving Jared to the depravity of something Jensen cannot even begin to understand. He has to do this.

A hand lands on his knee, and he looks at it for a long time before following it back up to Misha’s face. All of them are looking at him he realizes, but it’s Misha’s piercing gaze that holds his attention.

“You can do this. For your new friends. For yourself. You can do this Jensen.”

And Jensen nods. Because he can. He can do this. He just has to get out of the car.

 

\----

The rain is warm, and the grass and ground are already soaked. Jensen’s bad leg slips more than he cares to admit, but he keeps upright and holds onto his shovel in the interest of making it to the end of this. Because he has to see the end. He has to know that Jared is safe. Distantly he wonders if getting rid of Sierra will take the idea of choice away. When it was just the house Jensen was worried, but he believed and Jared stayed.

Considering how his luck has been turning out there’s a very real possibility that doing this will make him single again. It seems like a cold way to break up with someone.

Jensen leads the group down the street, through the backyards of the neighbors he’s never met, and then skirting along the edge of his own property. There’s a light on upstairs that shines through one of the stained glass windows in the ballroom, and Jensen wonders who it is up there, and why they’d turn the lights on.

He forgets the question when he slips and finds Chris’s strong hands holding him up. When this is over he’s going to take a nice long hot bath, and let everything rest, because rainy days are the worst on the formerly pinned joints.

Normality, he’ll have normality, and isn’t that great?

The trees sway around them in the rain, and then break open faster than he expected to show them the opposite side of the graveyard than he’s used to. He stares at the low stones, lightning illuminating them for a second before they’re plunged back into darkness except for the flashlight beams.

It’s slow going picking their way through the stones. The varying heights and placement make it difficult to pick a specific path to take through to the other side, and the wet earth sucks at their shoes and causes them to slip on uneven patches.

One death in between Jeff and Sierra, and Jensen must have assumed that it was the Pellegrino nephew. But it wasn’t. Jensen remembers asking Jared about the bodies, Jared specifying that they weren’t all buried there. Pellegrino’s body must have been moved somewhere else, and the smooth stone beside Jeff’s was for his wife Hilarie.

Which means the little stone, destroyed with what Jensen had assumed was time and weather, is Sierra’s. They stop in front of it, and Misha pulls at his wet robes and stole before he nods to them. They begin to dig.

Jensen tries to keep pace with Chris and Aldis, but he’s slipping too much to be as useful as he’d like. He realizes he doesn’t know anything about burial rules in the time Sierra died. Will she be a full six feet under? Will there be a cement casing around the coffin that they have to break through? He knows that the scenes in movie and TV where one man digs a grave in a short period of time is bullshit.

They’re hip deep when Jensen’s shovel strikes wood. Apparently he was making more progress than he thought.

Misha and Aldis hold flashlights while Jensen and Chris clear the last of the earth from the top of the coffin. It’s small, old and decaying wood rotted through in places, and Jensen can see a strange pattern that was probably once prominently carved into the oak and now simply gave off an unsettling vibe in the shaky light provided by his friends.

A groan accompanies the opening of the lid, a crack of thunder, and then Jensen hears a shout that sends him flying back into the edge of the grave they’ve dug up, mud sliding down the back of his shirt and seeping through his pants. Aldis shrieks and Chris spins with his shovel, but the only shape standing there in the rain is Jared.

Long hair is plastered to his head and neck, and his eyes are huge and dark. He stares at the group of them with horror evident on his face, and Jensen wonders if Jared is here how close behind Sierra will be. The rain will wash away any salt they try to put down, and they’re basically defenseless.

Maybe waiting wouldn’t have been cowardice.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing out here?”

Chris opens his mouth, but it’s Jensen that responds. Jared deserves that.

“Setting things right Jared. Where’s Sierra?”

Jared looks around the tableau they create, eyes lingering on Misha, and then turns to Jensen.

“Inside. Samantha is talking to her. Jensen, Jensen stop and look at what you’re doing. If you’re wrong you’re sending an innocent girl to who knows what. If this even works. What if it really is the house? What if the fireplace wasn’t the heart of the problem?”

He swallows, licks rainwater off his lips and tries to find a good way to respond that isn’t pleading. He needs to sound confident, because his confidence will carry on to Jared.

“I’m sure. I’m sure Jared. It’s Sierra. And this will stop it. This will set free the people who want to leave and clear the house. It’ll make it safe for me to stay with you.”

“Or it will send her to someplace worse. I’ve known her for a long time Jensen. A long time. She’s not evil.”

Jensen hoists himself out of the ground as smoothly as he can, slipping just a bit and then standing on the uneven and muddy ground and staring at Jared. He must look a mess, covered in grave mud and soaked to the bone. His shoulder is screaming and his leg aches worse than it has in a long time. He wants to go inside. Draw a long hot bath and drag Jared into it. He wants to settle down and live here, in this house, with the man he loves. But to do so he has to destroy someone Jared considers a friend.

And he might be wrong. This might be false confidence the same way the fireplace was. Jared might be right.

But Jensen is willing to risk it. Even if it means Jared will resent him he’s willing to risk it. Because Jared deserves to have a choice. He deserves to decide where he wants to go for his afterlife, he deserves to know the truth about who he’s cared for all this time, and he deserves to know that Jensen is just this selfish. If that’s the way he sees it.

“Jared, I’m sorry, you’re going to see I’m right. Misha. Do it.”

Misha’s voice is drowned out temporarily by the blowing wind and thunder, and Jensen misses large portions of it after that because he spends the ceremony staring at Jared. They’re locked there, the grave between them and storm raging around them, and Jensen wants to move forward and can’t.

Logically he knows that he might require forgiveness after this. That being right doesn’t automatically absolve him from his ignoring Jared’s wishes. That being said, Jensen certainly hopes it does.

When a heavy hand lands on Jensen’s shoulder he doesn’t turn, but he hears Misha say, “It’s done Jensen.”

And he wonders whether that’s true, and if so how much of it is done. Either way he breaks eye contact to put the heavy mud back into the grave, and when he looks up Jared is still there. Jensen takes that as a good sign. He has to.


	7. Epilogue

All the lights are on in the house, and when the group of them trudge into the kitchen through the back door there is a group of ghosts waiting on the other side. Jeff is missing, as is Sam and Jim. He sees Chad in the back, a Pabst in his hand and a goofy smile on his face. Samantha and Lauren are holding hands by the stove, eyes big and focused on them. Charles and Adrianne are by the door, and they move forward as one and both wrap their arms around Jared in a huge hug that should put a smile on his face.

Jared stands in the kitchen like a stone statue though, face blank and eyes traveling around to see the remaining ghosts. Jensen wonders if some of the missing ones are simply around, because he didn’t always see them around anyway. There were even supposed to be ghosts he had yet to meet, and maybe they’re all wherever they go when they don’t feel like interacting with living people. Or their fellow dead people.

Or something.

Misha toes his shoes off next to the door, and then steps into the middle of the room and looks around at the group of them.

“Can anyone tell me the nearest closet with a towel? I’m starting to chafe.”

The silence is broken by Adrianne breaking out into laughter, one hand covering her mouth and eyes sparkling. Charles falls in with her a moment later, and then Chad is laughing too. Jensen watches Aldis, caught up in the sweep of either joy or hysteria and Samantha covering her mouth delicately. Lauren smiles, but she’s looking at Jared now as if his response is the one that will lead her.

And why that would be a surprise Jensen doesn’t know. But he can’t tell what Jared’s response is. Big hands are covering his face and his shoulders are shaking. Jensen can’t take the wait anymore. All his good intentions about giving Jared space die in the tension of the moment.

He steps forward, Adrianne and Charles falling aside, and carefully removes Jared’s hands. There are tears in his eyes, but his lips are turned upwards. Dimples, chin trembling, and shoulders still hitching slightly.

Jared takes him in for a long time before reaching out and grabbing Jensen’s face. His fingertips stroke along Jensen’s wet temples, and then he leans in and kisses him. His lips are still cool, still firm, and slick with rainwater. The kiss is amazing though. Quite possibly the best kiss Jensen has ever received, and he randomly remembers that cold hands mean a warm heart and Jared pulls them tight together and continues to kiss him.

He gets lost in it, only remembers that they have an audience when Charles lets out a little celebratory whoop and slaps Jensen on the back. Which pushes him more firmly into Jared’s chest, and then Jensen finds he’s being lifted up off the floor and carried out of the room. There’s enough time to look over Jared’s shoulder and wave, and then they’re headed up the stairs and towards the bedroom.

No words are spoken, lips too busy kissing, as Jared undresses Jensen and then leads him into the bathroom. His eyes slip closed, and Jensen lets Jared take over as the shower springs to life and Jensen hears the wet thump of Jared’s soaked clothes hitting the floor. Then they’re surrounded by steam and warmth and Jared is pressing Jensen back into the tiles of the standup shower as hot water pelts them.

It’s perfect, and Jensen lets Jared keep the lead and simply relaxes into the big hands that disappeared for a moment and then returned covered in soap suds, working over his skin to remove the mud and ease the muscle tension from the night.

And then Jared’s hands move, and one is wrapped around Jensen’s half hard cock and the other is kneading his right ass cheek and working slowly towards the center. Jensen moans into Jared’s mouth, knees wobbling a bit and Jared’s hips pinning him firmly into the wall to keep him up.

One finger presses against his hole, circles gently, and Jensen’s fully hard in Jared’s loose grip before it even begins to work his way in. He’s not going to last long, and he knows it, and that’s ok. And then Jared’s finger is in him, it’s clever mate working patterns and circles in the sensitive skin around his hole and his other hand tightening down and going in firm and increasingly fast strokes.

The whole time Jared manages to keep their lips locked together. Tongue pushing into Jensen’s mouth and wet hair brushing Jensen’s face. Jensen moans, jerking forward into Jared’s hand, and then Jared surprises him by sliding in the second finger quickly, and then twisting both of them to press down on his prostate while his hand twists on the head of Jensen’s dick.

And that’s it, Jensen comes, arms wrapping around Jared’s shoulders and mouth open in one long sound that he can’t control at all. He rides out the high of it, lips pressed to the skin of Jared’s face instead of his actual mouth, and then his eyes can open and he can make eye contact.

Jared’s smiling again, eyes no longer sparkling with tears, and Jensen wants to ask so many things and can only seem to verbalize one.

“My turn?”

There’s a shake of Jared’s head, minute but there, and then Jared presses a soft kiss to his forehead and maneuvers him so that he’s in front of the water’s spray and taking the brunt of it.

“We gotta get all this mud off you man. You ain’t going to bed like that.”

He tries not to be hurt, not to read too much into it, but considering the last few hours there’s too much between them not to.

“Jared are- do you not want- you have to help me out here man.”

Those hands, warmed by the water Jensen thinks because they feel good on the chillier patches of skin that water isn’t hitting, work the soap lather in small circles. Jared’s lips press against the base of his neck and then they move while he speaks.

“Jensen, I’m not gonna lie and say I just- I knew Sierra for a long time and I liked her. Knowing what I know now doesn’t mean I don’t. I don’t even know if she knew she was doing it. There’s a big hole there, because I probably never will. And I’d like to. I’d like to know if we were friends because she made us be or because I chose to be. I’d like to know if she killed those people consciously. I don’t know if I spent the last hundred years comforting and talking to a monster, or a confused little girl. But that doesn’t change the fact that I know you risked your life for us not once but twice. That you saved a lot of miserable people today and set them free. So we’re ok. I’m not necessarily fine yet, but we’re ok. So shut up and let me wash you.”

And that’s enough. That’s good enough. Jared will have to work through the rest of it, and Jensen can only help him so much. But Jared will be there, and Jensen will too. They have time, and that means everything.

If there’s anything Jensen has learned from all of this, it’s that there’s time. That what you do in this life is only a part of the story, an important part, but just part. He believes that just like Charles and Adrianne or Lauren and Samantha he and Jared can be together just as long as they want.

That death, in the end, takes nothing away. Not if you know how to live.

 

\----

 

Jensen comes homes form the grocery store, wiping sweat from his forehead before the strong dip in temperature makes it cool and sticky. He can hear noises coming from the back of the house, and he wonders for a moment if this is going to be an issue. His arms are full of groceries, and on a hopeful lark he calls out not expecting anyone to come. Except Charles pops into existence beside him and eyes the bags before shifting a number of them off Jensen’s arms and into his own.

“You get the corn starch Jensen?”

“No, I took a four page list to the grocery store and left out the one item that got repeated eight times in three different hand-writings.”

Charles gives him a dry look before heading for the kitchen. When Jensen walks in there are three ghosts standing in front of the ultra-modern stove Jensen had installed and arguing viciously with each other. He drops his bags on the counter and watches with a certain sense of bitterness as Charles easily lowers his own load and rejoins the group.

“No, look, the light’s on so it’s good to go.” Adrianne’s mouth is pursed and her finger is pointed accusingly.

“It’s the pre-heating light you daft specter. It doesn’t mean it’s ready it means it’s getting ready.” Lauren wipes hair from her forehead and shoots Jensen a small smile before turning back to the fight.

“Ladies, ladies, it’s obvious that this is a problem best solved by semantics. There ain’t really any such thing as heating or pre-heating. It’s hot or it isn’t. Just put the pan on.” Chad’s eyes sparkle, hand wrapped around a Pabst can that Jensen has no doubt is empty and simply a prop to keep him feeling comfortable and normal.

He rounds the island and looks at the stove speculatively for a moment, aware that all the eyes have now landed on him to settle the disagreement and proclaim an arbitrary winner. He hears the door swing open and then shut and hopes it’s Jared.

“Ok. So that light means. Uh. You know I think it would be best if all of you read the instructions again. Get a little refresher course on how to use the new stove.”

Arms wrap around him, cool and solid, and Jensen leans back into the solid bulk of his dead boyfriend.

“That means Jen ain’t got no idea what that light means, but he doesn’t want to admit he’s as technologically illiterate as a bunch of old, dead spooks.”

“I really wish you wouldn’t use that vulgar term to describe us Jared. There are so many more dignified ways to phrase our condition.” Lauren sniffs once and then turns to rummage in the cabinet for the instruction booklet that the group of them have read a combined billion times and Jensen has glanced at once.

Despite the level of fighting and the potential for explosions it’s still a big relief to have so many potential cooks cohabitating with him.

Lips brush his ear, and Jared’s hands settle firmly over his stomach.

“It go ok? You don’t seem as shaky this time.”

Once upon a time Jensen would have resented the question. He would get defensive at the possibility that he couldn’t function long enough to travel six miles to a grocery store and pick up the necessities for a household of essentially one. Although often the ghosts make enough for everyone to have a token portion that goes somewhere Jensen doesn’t want to consider.

But not now. He’s not whole, not yet, but there’s a level of comfort he’s achieved that lets him look at his broken parts and see them as another obstacle to simply overcome. Death is not a mystery to him anymore. He doesn’t have to agonize over the fate of the boy that hit him.

Jensen knows that there’s more, and that sometimes that more can be downright heavenly even if it’s earthbound.

“Yeah. It went fine Jay. Just fine.”

There’s a little noise, Jensen knows it means Jared is smiling, and those cool lips settle on the back of his neck and send a shiver down his spine.

Maybe Chris and Aldis will come over tomorrow, and maybe they’ll all hang out in the living room and watch movies or play one of ridiculously overcomplicated group games that Chad found once he mastered Google far beyond any hope of user quality Jensen could ever aspire to.

Whatever happens next though, Jensen knows that his new family will be there, and that he never has to worry about losing them. There’s a future, all the way to the grave and beyond, and Jensen knows what it’s going to be. Can love without fear of losing, and live without the constant terror of nothingness.

“Lauren get the extinguisher the grease is on fire!”

Well. Mostly without fear.

 

"And that, as they say, is that...Death, after all, is the house we all finally come home to. Rest assured of that. See every ghost story might begin with a house and a tragedy, but they don't always end the same."-Janet Morello Haunt


End file.
